CONTENTS

PAGEFestina-Lente,IN MEMORIAM VERSES—

Our Beloved Queen Victoria, Died 22nd January, 1901, 2Her Imperial Majesty the Empress Frederick of Germany, 2Sir Archibald Orr-Ewing, Baronet, Ballikinrain Castle, 3James Campbell, Tuillichewan, 4Peter Denny, LL.D., Helenslee, Dumbarton, 5President William M’Kinley, 6Lady Leith, 9

She hath done what she could, 10The Bonnie Rose o’ Arden, 11In Memorian Jessie Campbell Gilmour, 12A Mother’s Love, 14In Memoriam Lieutenant Robert M’Clure, 16The Memorial Tablet, 17In Memorian William and Mary Drain, 19In Memoriam to Bernard, 21In Loving Memory of Wee Willie, 23The Dying Mother, 24A Memory, 25Honour to Whom Honour is Due, 27In Honour of the Welcome Home of Surgeon-Major Babtie, V.C., C.M.G.,31The Joy of the People of Renton at the Election of 1900, 83The Farewell, 36Vive Le Roi, 37The Soldier’s Parting, 39On Presenting a Book to a Friend, 41To an Old Friend on the Birth of Her First Child, 42Pretty Little Rosie, 43On the Bonnie, Green Banks of the Leven, 44The Fault is only Mine, 45The Girls of Croftengea,46Rosina! Round that Name of Thine, 47Oor Wee Joe, 48I Kent a Wee Laddie, 490 Mother! Just a Little While, 50Ode to Robert Burns, 51Glasgow, that Famous City, 52In the Bonnie Wee Toon o’ Renton, 53Bonnie Bonhill, 54Do not turn away, Love, 55The Auld Pump Well, 56A Verse Now and Then, 57Shamrock Number II., 58A Mother’s Lament, 59The Soldier, 60The New Bridge at Bonhill, 61The Wish of the People of the Vale of Leven on the Marriage of Major Henry Brock, of Auchenheglish,

62Verses in Honour of the Silver Jubilee of Sir James and Lady Colquhoun of Luss,63Verses in Honour of the Silver Jubilee of Sir Thomas and Lady Glen-Coats, Ferguslie, Paisley, 64Verses in Honour of the Grand Jubilee of Messrs. Denny & Brothers, 65On a Beautiful Wedding I saw at Jamestown, 68The Golden Wedding of an Old Vale of Leven Couple, 69

My Lady Overtoun, 70The Dear Old Public Hall, 71Childhood Days, 72Changed, 73The Old Beggar Man, 74Portrait of an Edinburgh Chiel, 76On Parting with Maggie,78The Dark-Haired Maid, 79Tea—Tea—Tea, 80Sweet Mary Lee, 82Neur-al-gia, 83On Two Lovers Parting, 84A Blessing from a Broken Heart,85Ae nicht a knock cam’ to our door, 86Presentation of War Medals to the First Active Service Company of Volunteers, which took place at Stirling Castle, 88On Board the “Mary Morrison,” 90Alone, 92A Cherished Picture 93In Commemoration of Sir David Richmond’s Farewell to the Council Chamber where he faithfully served the City as Councillor and Lord Provost for Twonty Years, 94On Reading Lady Overtoun’s Touching Letter in the Lennox Herald, 18th November, 1899, on Behalf of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Family Association, 96Love’s Test, 97Parted, 98Memories of the Past, 99Ballagan Braes, 100False Love, 102Come Back to the Vale, 103The Orphan Boy, 105The Fireside Emigrants, 106The Winding Path of Crosslett, in Dumbarton, 107Defeated, but not Subdued, 109Bonnie Blue-eyed Nellie, 110The Postman, 111The Man that Lost His Memory, 112Mary’s Toys, 113Benediction, 114The Soggarth Arroon, 115The Exile from the Vale,116First Love, 118A Day on Loch Lomond,120In Commemoration of the Coming of Age of the Marquis of Graham, Eldest Son of the Duke and Duchess of Montrose, held at Buchanan Castle, 123The General Servant, 125A Letter received by a Soldier from his Mother in the Vale of Leven telling of the kindness of Mr. H. Adair Campbell, of Broomley House, Alexandria, while he was with his Regiment at Modder River, 128Annie’s Departure, 130Come, Join the League with Me,132My Reception at Buchanan Castle, 135The Rivals, 137Finis Coronat Opus, 139

LOCH LOMOND RHYMES.

FESTINA-LENTE.

Dear, gentle reader, I implore thee,When I shall place my book before thee—

Look not with scorn,But with thy sweetest smile advise me,And do not coldly criticise me—

Thou art but born.

Dame Nature from her lofty stationCan shower the gifts, while education,

She may refuse it.But the charm, for poetry hath endeared me,And to keep the life in one who reared me

I freely choose it.

Some lift the pen for pleasure only,While I, in hours so sad find lonely,

My soul doth pour.And when in bed I should be sleeping,Line after line, I sit here keeping

The wolf from the door.

Then kindly read my simple story,Free from fiction’s tales of glory

Or dreadful crimes,And this heart great joy shall bound inShould you have any merit found in

Loch Lomond Rhymes.

[ 2 ]

In Memoriam Verses.

OUR BELOVED QUEEN VICTORIA, DIED 22ND JANUARY, 1901.

Pure as the opening petals of a roseThat greets the dawn of a summer’s day,When the New Year woke her life did close,And Victoria, our Mother Queen, did pass away.

Yes, passed away from earthly care and pain,Victoria Regina, of stainless memorie,Our grief, our loss, now her eternal gain,Beloved of all her subjects on land and sea.

A nation mourns in silence lone and deep;All hearts axe moved to see the flags half-mast—That mournful sign made all bow down and weepWhen raised on high to flutter in the blast.

Yet Kings and Queens they too must dieAn the poorest beggar; death chills them through.Six feet of earth is all their wealth can buy;Ashes to ashes must be their verdict too.

Yet, dear Victoria, spotless, cherished Queen,Thou art not dead—but Liveth in thy race;

Then may thy good example and most peaceful reignGuide him, our honoured Prince, who now shall fill thy place.

HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE EMPRESS FREDERICKOF GERMANY.

Sleep on, thou gentle Empress, brave daughter of our Queen!A nation shall thy memory bless and keep it fresh and green;

[ 3 ]

Much hast thou suffered here with pain, through all those weary years,Our earthly aid was all in vain—likewise our smiles and tears.

And now all Europe has been moved to see the flags half-mast,Which tell them thou, so dearly loved, hath found relief at last.Ah, kind and gentle Empress, child of our dear dead Queen,How like thy Royal mother thy life has ever been.

Patient in all thy suffering, thy brave courageous mindHath left a good example to those who mourn behind.To-morrow they will lay you down thy noble Fritz beside,Whom you have mourned so tenderly since that sad day he died.

Twelve of thy gallant soldiers, with hearts in grief bowed down,Shall bear you on their shoulders while thousands wait around.Kind hands will hold the torchlights, in robes of mourning drest,And light thee, Royal Empress, unto thy place of rest

‘Neath sacred walls united, where pain and sorrow cease,You shall sleep until the daybreak in the lovely church of peace.

SIR ARCHIBALD ORR-EWING, BARONET, BALLIKINRAIN CASTLE.

Hushed was the song of the birds in the trees,Nature had summoned her flock to remainSubdued in the presence of death’s chilling breeze,When he passed through the Castle of Ballikinrain.

[ 4 ]

Closed are those eyes, and the dear cherished formCold as the snow when it covers the Ben,Wrapt in deep slumber, secure from the stormSleeps the gallant Orr-Ewing, beloved by all men.

Bring flowers of the fairest from the hills he loved dear;Twine lilies and roses with sweet mignonette,And place them all down on the lone, silent bierO’er the king of benefactors we shall never forget.

That grave in the winter all faded may be,But in the glad summer it will blossom again,And thus shall we treasure thy pure memorie,Sir Archibald Orr-Ewing of Ballikinrain.

JAMES CAMPBELL, TULLICHEWAN CASTLE.

O, leave him to rest ‘mang his ain native heather,The slogan no more shall the Campbell awake,The clansmen that loved him assemble togetherIn loyal respect their last farewell to take.He was a man, the highest title, tenderUnto the memory of him who took partIn public and private the cause he did renderWas liberal in hand and liberal in heart.Not long hath it been since the cannons did rattleAnd sorrow came home to our dear Highland chief,When upon the hot veldt his own kin fell in battle,Ah, then did that kind heart feel stricken with grief.Their graves lie far distant and mingled with foemen,Yet sleep they as sound on that bleak mountain side.Ah, deep is the debt which a nation doth owe them,The bereaved of those heroes who gallantly died.What wonder the laird loved the tartan so dearly,The buckler, the target, and trusty claymore,His great martial spirit knew their value sincerelyWhen danger prevailed in the dark days of yore.We shall miss him, the Laird of the Tullichewan bowers,While the autumn winds sadly shall moan round his grave,

[ 5 ]

But little he’ll rock in his bed of sweet flowersReserved for the last resting-place of the brave.The flags are half-mast and the church bells toll sadly,The sound of the slogan shall wake him no more;The summons has come—he has answered it gladly;He hath laid down his armour, his battles are o’er.

PETER DENNY, LL.D., HELENSLEE, DUMBARTON.

The dear old man has passed away,King Death has like an arrow sped,And floating in the breeze to-dayThe flags half-mast tell he is dead.

Dunclutha mourns her gifted son,For gifted in all things was he,The life is o’er—the race is runOf the good old man of Helenslee.

Calm and serene, of noble mind,He waited on the golden tide,But death, the victor of mankind,Parted the bridegroom from the bride.

Yes, while they hand in hand did waitTo greet their golden jubilee,The unseen hand proclaimed their fate,And crushed kind hearts at Helenslee.

That name shall never be forgot,

Enshrined on every heart to-day,And many seek that sacred spotSince Peter Denny passed away.

The mind unconscious, wrapt in sleep,And cold indeed the heart must beThat does not throb with memories deepOf the grand old man of Helenslee.

[ 6 ]

PRESIDENT WILLIAM M’KINLEY.

Lead, kindly light, lead on—that all the world may seeThe two great branches of the English speaking race,Within one year over one common sorrow, bend the kneeTogether for the second time in fond embrace.

That was a cause for thankfulness, a glorious sight to see,Britain joining hands with America over that honoured graveOf him her greatest citizen—the dauntless, bold, and free,The heart that wept for our dead Queen—a hero true and brave.

We also unite with the American people on this their dayOf national mourning, for a family reason that we prized,For the face of a brother and a friend, we proudly sayIn President William M’Kinley we recognised.

His name bespoke his origin, and we were justly proud—Proud that a man with Scottish blood—had climbed the ladder of fame,And without influence, birth, or fortune had torn aside the cloudOf obscurity, and left behind a stainless, unsullied name.

And they need not wonder that he stood before his countrymen to-day—Regal, with a royalty beyond that of kings,By the force of his own genius alone we truly sayHe rose to the topmost rung on honest labour’s wings.

William M’Kinley passed into the army at that early age nineteen.First as private, then as subaltern, and then as major, playedA brave and brilliant part, and much danger seen,And on the field of battle he a gallant soldier made.

[ 7 ]

When the war was happily over America was proud to showThe splendid army of a million and half brave men from the strife,A glorious spectacle indeed, who boldly met the foe,Passing back without a struggle into the currents of peaceful life.

William M’Kinley became a lawyer then, and afterwards did wedHis gentle wife—a union fraught with joy and sorrow here;But since their wedding morning, until he lay there dead,A union of unfaltering love, both constant and sincere.

Though not distinguished as a lawyer, as politician he excelled all,Making the mastery of finance his study, his country he did educate;

And twice by the voice of a loyal majority he was calledAnd raised to the highest position in the United State.

His position never seemed more secure than it did some time ago,A glorious speech he had just made, enunciating wideHis liberal views, and stretching forth his hand in friendship, when the blowStruck by the weapon of an assassin brought the crimson tide.

O, cruel wretch! to kill the beat of menWhile grasping the hand he well might shun!His last words were, “Good-bye all,” and then“Good-bye! it is God’s way. His will, not ours, be done.”

And amid the mourning of a mighty nation nowHis body in the grave is laid the noblest of the clan!While twenty thousand mourners, stand with grief upon their brow,And hearts bowed down in sorrow for that simple Godfearing man.

[ 8 ]

Well might the pipers round that tomb express in mournful strainsThe very words our bleeding hearts would say,The requiem that is cherished on Afric’s dreary plains—“The flowers o’ the forest are all wede away.”

For have we not seen the forest, as it were,Of such flowers as Abraham Lincoln, the wise,Of brave and patient Garfield, too, laid bare,All slain by misguided men before our eyes?

President Carnot, of France, moderate and upright,Alexander the Second, Emperor of Russia, liberal and humane;The gentle Empress of Austria, pure and bright,And the patriotic King of Italy—all those lie slain.

While base attempts which have most fortunately failedHave been made on the lives of others equally loved and dear,And now our President has fallen while life’s joys he hailed,He little thought, so happy then, that cruel death was near.

Yet even so, we cannot raise the veil beyond, to knowWe are but poor mortals, unconscious of our fate;To God alone belongs the right of our destiny here below—What God knows we know not now, his pleasure we await.

Yet while we join hands in sympathy o’er the sea,Our consolation his dying words shall be,“Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee,E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me.”

May He who reigneth in heaven comfort those who mourn, on earth,Bereft now of that noble form all men did truly love;And may He send His angels to cheer that lonely hearth,And raise the widow’s heart to dwell on future joys above.

[ 9 ]

Where He hath ordained all shall meet beside that Great White Throne,In that happy land our cares and troubles o’er,Where no treacherous deadly bullet will penetrate the bone,For the glory of His righteousness shall keep us ever more.

LADY LEITH.

On the margin of the lakeStands Ross Priory gleaming fair,And where love his throne doth makeOnce did live a lady there.

She was beautiful and good,And her lord did her revere,That, pure gem of motherhood,Idolised by children dear.

Like an angel day by dayBringing sunshine to the poor,Cheering all who came her way,None went empty from her door.

But a shadow dark and grimKissed those lips, and in its breathBore her spirit off with him,And that shadow’s name was—Death.

Rich and poor wept round that bier,Every heart was plunged in grief,And to-day they all revereThe memory pure of Lady Leith.

[ 10 ]

SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD.

In Cardross churchyard there’s a grave growing green,Where sleeps a fair lady so gentle and good,And on the grey tombstone to-day can be seenThis simple inscription—”She hath done what she could.”

The people of Renton had blessings in storeWhen you came amongst them a fair smiling bride,But sad were the hearts of the rich and the poor,Sweet angel of mercy, that day when you died.

O, purest of women, thou dear English rose,The thistle of Scotia is pining for thee!No smiles light that face since you sank in repose—He is longing to join you unfettered and free.

In Cardross churchyard on that calm, sacred spotMany fond hearts have wept, gentle lady, for thee,Thy unfailing kindness shall ne’er be forgot,But cherished for ever in pure memorie.

THE BONNIE ROSE O’ ARDEN.

On fair Loch Lomond side them wis ance a bonnie rose,Fresh as the saft breeze o’ mornin’In summer an’ winter her petals wid discloseRich, beauty an’ fragrance adornin’.

When first I beheld her in youth’s sunny daySo lovely an’ pure in that garden,Smiling around her sae pleasant an’ gayThat I ca’ed her the sweet rose o’ Arden.

But there cam’ a blast an’ withered up her stem,Noo my queen in her cauld bed lies sleeping,While the buds that she cherished it’s sair grief to them,An, for the bonnie rose they are weeping.

Cauld death wis the blast that aye takes awa’The maist treasured flowers in the garden,An’ naething can ward him, he comes to us a’As he did to my bonnie Rose o’ Arden.

[ 12 ]

IN MEMORIAM JESSIE CAMPBELL GILMOUR.

I watched them make her grave last night,Where all was quiet and still,

And while the tears bedimmed my sight,Sad thoughts my heart did fill.

I knew how soon in that cold graveA fair young form would rest,

Fond parents tried in vain to save,For Jesus loved her best.

Ah, cruel death, how could’st thou takeFair Woodbank’s sweetest rose,

And leave such tender hearts to breakWhere all was calm repose!

The hour has come, and she is laidDown in the silent tomb,

Which loving hands with care hath madeA bed of sweet perfume.

Each token sent in sorrow deepFrom friends both far and near,

With kind respect this day they’ll keepIn memory ever dear.

How sad the scene, men hold their breathIn reverend grief sincere,

To see that father place each wreathUpon his darling’s bier.

The first sweet offering was his own,For Jessie loved so well,

His joy and pride, ah, God aloneThat fathers grief could tell.

The next fond tribute for the tombMade by her mother dear,

Where ‘midst the fragrance of their bloom

Bore trace of many a tear.That one fond heart, who wearied not,

Affection kind did prove,In that sad hour all else forgot—

Such is a mother’s love.

[ 13 ]

And now the wreath of sweet wild flowersSisters and brother twined,

Bright emblem of the happy hoursThey long will bear in mind.

When hand-in-hand in byegone daysThe flowers decked the glen

They climbed the bonnie heather braes—No thought of parting then.

Returning home at evening’s closeBy Tullichewan side,

The birth-place of sweet Woodbank’s rose,The Campbells’ joy and pride.

That fair young form lies ‘neath the mould,Where angels wings are spread,

To shield those locks of yellow goldIn that low, narrow bed.

Then loving parents, do not weep,Thy loss is great, we know,

But life is not our own to keep—God hath ordained it so.

And you would both so lonely beWhen Jesus called thee home,

Was there not one to welcome theeBeside that Great White Throne!

The child you loved so fond and dearWas free front earth’s vile stain,

And angels whispered—Only hereSuch beauty will remain.

In that bright home beyond the skiesFair Jessie waits on you,

And she has found what earth denies—A friend that’s ever true.

Though many hearts to-day are grieved,This consolation’s given—

Fair Woodbank’s rose from death relievedNow blooms a rose in heaven.

[ 14 ]

A MOTHER’S LOVE.

RECITATION.

Poets have sang of a mother’s love,Artists have painted the glorious scene,

Angels have witnessed from heaven aboveThose wells of Nature—inspiring theme.

Such love I write of a mother had,The idol, her absent soldier son,

Then listen, although you may feel sad,At my truthful tale ere it be done.

His noble mother was a soldier’s wife,And widow, too, for he was dead,

The bravest that ever breathed this life,And many a tear for him was shed.

One darling son this mother seenThe sword for Scotland proudly wield,

And glad was she that for his QueenHer only child marched on the field.

Then that dread terror of the plains,Which the boldest soldier cannot shun,

Enterio fever scorched the veinsOf him, the widow’s only son.

They kindly bore, him to the tent,Where loving bands at his request

A message to his mother sent,Which helped to soothe his troubled rest.

That message soon to Scotland came,And one fond heart received the blow,

O mother, hallowed be thy name,Through fire and water thou would’st go.

[ 15 ]

She read the message with a sigh,Then raised her streaming eyes above,

“O God,” she cried, “must my child dieWithout the shelter of my love!

“No, no, my boy, whate’er betide,For thee all dangers I will face,

Though raging seas us both divideThy mother’s arms shall thee embrace.

“The darkest jungle I would tread,My love would pierce the lion’s lair,

Though tigers grim were round me spreadI would venture knowing thou wert there.”

And thus the wings of love can soarShe left the home where she had dwelt,

And landing on that foreign shoreShe sought the reeking, red-stained veldt,

And there she found her darling boy.No tongue could that glad union tell,

One moment of that heavenly joyRepaid that anxious mother well.

For that dear life she bravely fought,She nursed him there, her only son,

Until he died and Jesus gotThat widow’s mite, all she had, now gone.

This was indeed a mother’s love,Traced in that book with page of gold,

Recorded at the Throne above,And at our humble fireside told.

[ 16 ]

IN MEMORIAM LIEUTENANT ROBERT M’CLURE, BELOVED SON OF ROBERT M’CLURE AND NEPHEW OF LORD AND LADY OVERTOUN.

In manhood’s bud and blossom our darling went away,His noble soul was thirsting to hail the battle fray;It grieved us all to part with him, yet our hearts beat high with joy,For he loved his Queen and country, our brave young soldier boy.

Beloved by all who know him, respected far and near,In the rank and file fond comrades his memory will revere,For the relief of Kimberley, that filled all hearts with joy,Has robbed our hearths and homes of him, our noble soldier boy.

There is no marble tombstone to mark the sacred spotWhere he is laid to rest with those who side by side had fought,But on the field of battle he sleeps without alloy,For the cannon’s boom shall never wake our British soldier boy.

He sought no grander requiem than the piper’s solemn strain,To the sweet notes of Lochaber on that lone, distant plain.There they have laid our cherished one, his father’s pride and joy,Until the day breaks he shall sleep our honoured soldier boy.

A nation’s widespread sympathy our deep distress both won,And we have the grief of others who may have lost a son,A husband, or a brother, who was their pride and joy,Now share the bed of glory with our dear soldier boy.

[ 17 ]

THE MEMORIAL TABLET.

There is a memorial tablet in Leven’s valley greenErected, yet neither of marble nor granite stone.No sculptor’s hand e’er traced the letters seenEmblazoned on page of gold would grace a throne.

Not in the lonely churchyard this glorious tablet stands,Not in the family vault, amidst ancestors bold,A site more cheerful this beauteous work commands,Would’st thou learn, stranger, where to find this page of gold?

Then seek ye the deserving poor in Leven’s flowery vale,And mark it well, for only within their hearts aloneShalt, thou find the tablet which bears the tale

Bright angels have recorded at the Great White Throne.

Then stand by Croftengea gates each quarter of the year,And the sight thine eyes will look upon the task shall well repay,Those faithful workers, aged now, note how they gather near,Poor old trembling creatures that soon shall be laid away.

See how those wrinkled hands clutch with a miser’s careThat paper pound which means to them great wealth,Within their poor old bodies comes a feeling there,As if this generous gift would buy them back their health.

One lonely widow says—”Why this from heaven is sentTo keep me in a shelter safe and sound;For three long months now I can sit content,For six and eightpence monthly just means this pound.”

[ 18 ]

You have read the tablet, stranger, raised to an honest man,You are touched with my simple story, for I see the teardrop start,And you say it was heavenly genius invented such a planAs the Henry Brock Memorial Fund, enshrined on every heart.

[ 19 ]

IN MEMORIAM WILLIAM AND MARY DRAIN, INTERRED IN ALEXANDRIA CEMETERY, 1884.

In the cold grave quietly sleeping my dear loved ones have found rest,Angels bright their watch are keeping while their souls are with the blest.Round them both did sickness hover, which they bore with patience brave,And when twelve long months were over they did both possess one grave.They were always kind and gentle while they in this world did stay,Which assures me they are happy in that land so far away.They have left a weeping mother, who to them was good and kind,She did love them like no other, and now she’s left to mourn behind.They have left two loving sisters, and their little brother John,Who we thought would break his heart when he was told that they were gone.On the 25th day of September, Willie then was called away,And on the l8th of November, Mary could no longer stay.All the time poor Willie suffered Mary sat beside his bed,Wiping off the sweat that gathered on his cold and youthful head.Eight long days he lay unconscious until a while before he died,Stretching out his arms in pity, for his brother John he cried.As we all did sit beside him, waiting on his parting call,He turned round and gazed upon us, as if to bid farewell with all.

[ 20 ]

Then we knew that all was over, as he tried in vain to speak,With a sigh for well won glory, tears coursed down his lovely cheek.With a sigh poor Willie left us, with a smile to us he came,But God’s will be done in all things, blessed be His holy name.One short month was scarcely over when wee Mary, loved so well,Was called away to meet her brother in that home where angels dwell.All the pain which she had suffered left her on that mournful day,Her bright blue eyes upraised to heaven, she smiled, and gently passed away.

Well we know they are in heaven, in the arms of the just,Tho’ their bodies now are lying moulding in each other’s dust.All ye parents now that pass by think upon those children dearThat now lie so quietly sleeping, and when you read this drop a tear.

[ 21 ]

IN MEMORIAM TO BERNARD.

Far across the broad Atlantic,O’er the ocean’s briny wave,On the plains so lone and drearyThere is made a soldier’s grave;And there sleep’s a mother’s darling,And a father’s joy and pride,Loved by sisters and by brothers,Friends and neighbours far and wide.When be left his home in RentonAnd went forth to serve his Queen,Those fond hearts were nearly breakingAh, it was a mournful scene.Many a time he did regret it,Leaving those he loved so dear,And the memory of that momentCaused poor Bernard many a tear.When his watch he would be keeping,Visions of his home would rise,And his loved ones seemed beside him,There before his streaming eyes,He would see his dear old motherPleading with him once again,Whispering, “Bernard, do not leave me,Do not break my heart with pain.”And there stands his poor old father,With his face all worn and sad;On his brow has sorrow gathered,Mourning for his absent lad.Gentle sisters smile upon him,While his brothers clasp his hands.He is back again in Scotland,Home once more from, foreign lands.But a falling tear has banishedThat sweet vision from his sight,And the dear old home is vanishedWith its scene so fair and bright.

[ 22 ]

And he finds himself a soldier,Sworn to honour and obey,On the plains of Roolapinda,Home and comrades far away.Then his guardian angel whispers,“Life for thee shall soon be o’er,And the loved ones of thy visionYou will meet on earth no more.”Thus while he of home is dreaming,

On those lonely distant plains,Alas I the burning heat is scorchingThe very life blood from his veins.And he leaves his comrades, murmuring,“Ali, how hot!” ‘twas all he said,And when anxiously they sought himHe was seated cold and deadOn the steps that reach the castle.All alone, the struggle past,‘Neath the bright blue skies of heaven,There poor Bernard breathed his last.No fond mother bathed his forehead,No kind father held his hand,He had died alone, unheeded,In that lonely distant land.Then there came a comrade’s letter,Telling loved ones not to mourn,For their son, his comrade soldier,Would to them no more return.Ah, that grief I no pen could write it,And mere words would be in vainTo describe the bitter sorrowThat filled those poor hearts with pain.Yet, why all this sad lamenting?God, hath mercy in his hand,He would not forsake poor BernardIn that far-off distant land.He had still his soul in keeping,And he stood with angels blest,Now he has him quietly sleepingWhere the weary are at rest.

[ 23 ]

IN LOVING MEMORY OF WEE WILLIE

Ah, why do you weep when the Saviour has givenThis proof of His love to poor mortals below,Would you envy your child the bright Kingdom of HeavenAnd His robe of pure innocence, whiter than snow?Every tear that you shed dime the glory around him,While the face of your darling turns sadly on theeThen, why do you weep, when the Saviour has found him,Who died on the Cross to redeem you and metHe is not away to reside with a stranger,Who will turn from him coldly, uncared for, alone!He is not exposed to temptation or danger,But to be a pure angel wee Willie is gone.His sweet lisping voice though no more you will hear it,And you miss his fond arms in your tender embrace,In humble submission look upwards and bear it–You know he is now in a far better place.Though deep is your sorrow, and Nature compels youWith the love of a mother those salt tears to shed,You know those sweet words where the Good Book it tells you,How the angry disciples those dear children ledFrom the feet of our Lord as they knelt to adore Him,

And how He smiled sweetly, and tenderly said,As He stretched out his arms and brought them before HimCome unto Me, children, and be not afraid! Those same loving words to your darling were given,Those same gentle arms your dear one enfold,While beside that White Throne in the Kingdom of HeavenHe pleads for you now in that Mansion of Gold.Though now you are weeping only think that to-morrowA sweet voice may whisper, “Look up, mother dear,Let me kiss those sad tears and banish your sorrow,Wee Willie is waiting to welcome you here.”

THE DYING MOTHER.

The light was dim in the silent room,A cherished mother was dying fast,Three eminent men had pronounced her doom,After all their skill death was there, at last.

She had suffered the pains that Scriptures tell,Of a childbed scene, and which they sayCan only equal the pains of hell,Such pains she bore ere she passed away.

Slowly she turned those mournful eyes,And the sight made the bravest shed a, tear–Then the watchers knew that her parting sighsWere for him she loved and her children dear.

What wonder when she had ceased to live,The good priest said when all was o’er—“Unto such a woman, if I could, I would giveThe Crown of Martyrdom ever more!”

O God, who knoweth the end of all,Comfort those who now bear the cross,And when those wee lambs for their mother call,Send solace to them for their bitter loss.

[ 25 ]

A MEMORY.

MA faither wis the bravest ladThat ever stepped in leather shoon,When in his kilt an’ tartan plaid An’ braw white spats weel buckled doon.

The hazel nut were his twa een,His checks were like the rose in June,‘Twas then ma mither first he seenAwa! in bonnie Cheshire toon.

Then back tae flowery Leven’s vale,He cam’ tae work his honest tradeBlock printer in Dalmonach Fiel’,Ae mony a paper poun’ he made.

Aye. weel I min’ when but a wean,Ower in Bonhill up Campbell Street,

A doucer man than he wis thenFor miles aroon, ye widna meet.

Then altered days upon him came,An’ evil company, worse than a’Sune left us wi’ a ruined hame—That wis ma faither’s first doonfa’.

Ma mither she tried every plantAn’ wrocht for us baith hard an’ sair,But a’ in vain to change the man—

Oor ioy wis gane for ever mair,

O, cruel drink! I weel may shunThy snare that wis ma, faither’s chains,

An’ laid him early ‘neath the grun’,Exiled frae wife an’ helpless weans.

[ 26 ]

When death wis near we never kent,Or we wid sune hae gane, wi’ speed,For when the news cam’ an’ we went,It wis tae learn that he wis deid.

Oh, when I think on that sad day,The bitter teardrop quickly fa’s,For dearly lo’ed wis he wha laySee calm an’ still ‘neath white-washed wa’s.

An’ when ma, lips touched that cauld broo,An’ byegane memories ower me cam’,I wept for him see kind an’ true,Wha’s greatest faut wis aye the dram.

The kindly nurse that led us in,Said, ere he dee’d he gently rose,An’ sang one sweet verse o’ a hymn,Then sank as if to seek repose.

Ma brither nearly brak’ his heart,But no a word could mither speak,Till aince the time drew near tae pairt,I saw the tears coorse doon her cheek.

An’ weel I kent those eyelids wetMeant pure forgiveness in his name;Her greatest grief, her one regret,Wis that he dee’d awa’ frae hame.

[ 27 ]

HONOUR TO WHOM HONOUR IS DUE.

Recitation.

To his loved ones in Dumbarton a soldier came to bid farewell,His proud heart beneath the tartan with deep emotion now did swell.He had orders for the Transvaal duty called, he must obey,Thus he sought the scenes of boyhood for the space of one short day.

As I chanced to be, on business I watched him come down the street;He was stalwart, brave, and handsome—I am sure he stood six feet.On my mind his noble figure such a deep impression made—With Ilia kilt and coat of khaki and his braw green tartan plaid.

That same day I sought his mother, and I found the soldier there,Kneeling by her bedside weeping—grief and sorrow everywhere.“Dearest mother,” he was saying, “why did you not let me know?Better far had you prepared me for this sad and cruet blow!

“In a few short hours I leave you, even at the break of day,I am bound for active service, duty calls, I must obey!Yet I never thought to find you on this weary bed of pain—Oh, courage! for my Queen forsakes me, Nature bids me here remain.

[ 28 ]

“And what right have I out fighting for a flag that’s not my own?I’ll desert, I cannot leave you, Mother dear, to die alone.Sure they only scorn us Irish, though we serve them heart and hand,Coldly they will turn and tell us we are rebels in the land!“

“Hush, dear Jimmie,” said his mother, while the tears coursed down her cheek,“Words like those but shame your manhood, no brave soldier thus should speak.Tell me not they scorn the Irish, since from every hill and glenWent a soldier to, the Transvaal, where now lies the best of them.

With the Union Jack wrapped round them, they sleep on that lonely plain,In the flower of manhood’s promise, never more to wake again;And the blood that dyed the tartan, from the papers we can tell,Was the blood of honoured Irish, who with brave General Wauchope fell.

‘And, my son, your noble father served his country and his Queen;His proud form in times of danger in the foremost ranks was seen.I was then a dark-eyed maiden, those white locks the maven’s wing,I loved him, oh, how fondly! he was my true soldier king!

“One fine morning, just like this, dear, he came home so worn and pale,Telling me he had got orders in a. few more hours to sail,Then, dear Jimmie, I implored him, not to go for my sweet sake,‘Wife,’ he said, ‘I am a soldier, my promise I shall never break!’

[ 29 ]

“Then he kissed me, and we parted, both hearts so full of pain,And before one month was over, he was numbered with the slain.In the midst of tears and sorrow you were born, my darling boy,And I prayed that God would spare you, for to bring me peace and joy.

“I was sorry when you listed, but when all was said and done,Thoughts came to me of your father, and I knew you were his sonLike him, keep your promise, Jimmie, though the forfeit be your life,Death is better than dishonour, and I am a soldier’s wife!

“When the bugle sounds to-morrow, calling comrades on parade,Let them find no false deserter ever wore the tartan plaid.”Then her trembling voice grew weaker, and the soldier took her hand,Whispered, “Mother, you have conquered—my father’s name the talisman.

“I will leave you in God’s keeping, and go forth in honour true;Should the bullet seek my bosom, I will meet in heaven with you.”Then next morning, just at daybreak, Jimmie left Dumbarton townBade farewell to friends and comrades with God-speed from all around.

And upon the field of battle, where such glorious deeds were done,Foremost in the ranks amongst them stood the widow’s only son.While they fought for Britain’s glory midst the roar of shot and shell,One brave heart received a bullet—and with a groan poor Jimmie fell!

[ 30 ]

As he lay upon the hillside, the life blood ebbing from his heart,Some one called, “There comes a letter,” and they saw their comrade start;It was for him, and he knew it, “Read it, read it, mates,” he cried.One short line that ran as follow: “This morning, Jim, your mother died.”

Loving hands his wound was closing, but be stopped them ere they could.“Staunch it not, but dye the tartan, crimson with my Irish blood,Mother will be proud to see it, and when I am laid from sightPlace upon my breast this letter, it shall lead me through the night

“To the glorious light eternal, where the soldier and the kingStand before that Great Tribunal, equals there in everything!”Then his comrades felt him sinking when those dying words were given,Mother, I have kept my promise, surely we shall meet in heaven.”

On that distant plain they left him, where he fell in manhood’s joy;The pipers played for funeral anthem his favourite song, “The Minstrel Boy.”Scenes like this make men and women good and noble, kind find true,To overcome this worlds temptations deeds like those our strength renew.

Death is better than dishonour,” such the words his mother said,Now her loved-ones both lie sleeping, covered with the tartan plaid.

[ 31 ]

VERSES COMPOSED IN HONOUR OF THE WELCOME HOME OF SURGEON-MAJOR BABTIE, V.C., C.M.G. FROM SOUTH AFRICA, 7TH JANUARY, 1901

God bless thee, gallant major, how proud are we this dayTo see you safe at home with us again,Back to your dear old father, back from the battle fray,Saved from the, terrible fate of being numbered with the slain.

Thrice welcome to Dumbarton, where thy people fond and trueWill evermore thy glorious deeds unfold,

How upon that field of tartan deadly danger you went through—Ah, that tale, in many a happy home is told.

Thus with hearts of joy we greet you in this bright and glad new year,And hold you up to honour and renown;Like the far-famed Colonel Denny, whose name we all revere,You are indeed a credit to the town.

Oh, were I but an artist, or could my pen portrayThat sore, sad fight Tugela, banks beside,Where many a mother’s darling in manhood’s blossom layWhile drop by drop their blood, the hot veldt dyed;

Then mine the hand would paint you in that most solemn scene,Kneeling by Lord Roberts’ only son,The lad who bravely fought and fell for country and for Queen,Dying ere his life had well begun.

[ 32 ]

Brave noble Major Babtie, no bright arms you had;No thought of self—your heart for others bled—Thy only shield those letters; ah, who would not feel sadTo see thee calmly hold them o’er Lieutenant Roberts’ head?

No greater deed, dear Major, could heart of man conceive;No sight more glorious than to see thee giveThat precious water each parched tongue to relieveUntil the last drop, to friend or foe, that they might live.

Thus would I paint the picture, that every human eyeCould gaze on it with mingled joy and pride;And to note that noble father so humbly standing bye,With the glorious badge of honour, at your side.

Ah, surely that hand trembled at remembrance of his loss;When he told you of the glory you had won,And pinned upon your bosom that bright Victoria Cross,He knew that death had claimed his only son.

And although the pangs of nature, that bind us here below,Stand foremost even on the battle plain,Yet the stern call of duty will allow no overflow;Though the soldier’s heart is breaking, he his feelings will retain.

Then God bless you, gallant Major, and a peaceful, happy life;Let us hope the dawn of freedom is at hand;May you have no cause to leave us more to enter in the strife,But remain with those who love you in your own dear land.

[ 33 ]

THE JOY OF THE PEOPLE OF RENTON AT THE ELECTION OF 1900.

Well done, our noble chieftain! we knew that you would win:Why, with such a grand majority, another could get in;But it’s just what we expected, for you could never fail

While there’s true hearts in the Renton and bonnie Leven’s Vale.

Long life to your opponent for the noble words he said,In the kind and loving tribute he this night to thousands paid,When he told us that it pleased him, and his friends and neighbours too,Just to face the contest bravely, and then leave the seat too you.

You are worthy of your people, and you well deserve our vote:May you always be our member and wear the honoured coat;And, when you pass through the Lobby, you might tell the dauntless JoeThat the people of the Renton voted for the man they know.

We want peace and no more bloodshed; but the first thing we want done,Give the maiden back her sweetheart and the mother back her son—The baby calls its father to come back from o’er the foam,And a nation waits to welcome our brave British soldiers home.

[ 34 ]

While there are some we loved so dear, that never will come back,On the battlefield they’re sleeping, covered with the Union Jack;We want more than tears or pity—in the homes of such bereft,We want comfort for the widow and, the orphans who are left.

Thus we place you as our Member in your old seat once again,And we all wish, Mr. Wylie, that you long may there remain;Proudly you will make them keep to every promise they have made,For we never once have found you in our cause to be afraid.

Then accept the praise we give you, not in flattery, but your right:You have proved yourself our champion, you have fought the gallant fight;And the little children know it, when they met you at the train,Like an angel deputation, that you might not try in vain.

And one instance more I’ll mention, just before I drop my pen—I want three cheers, loud and hearty, that will sound through hill and glen,For one who lives amongst us, who hath passed the allotted span,Alexander Ewing of Cardross, that grand old man.

In age about one hundred years, yet happy and content:Like a smart young man of twenty, to Dumbarton town he went,And his message was no secret, for he shouted in the hall—“I am here to vote for Wylie, and I wish I had them all!”

[ 35 ]

Then success attend your efforts, and all honour to the brave!While the Renton Band is playing “Britannia Rules the Wave.”And “He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” while the flags and rockets fly,Why, the war seemed in the Renton, our excitement ran so high!

But it was your grand majority that told, the glorious tale,And brought joy to hardy Renton and bonnie Leven’s Vale;While our future generations, will give honour unto theeAnd revere the name of Wylie, our local M.P.

[ 36 ]

THE FAREWELL.

Farewell, mother, do not weep,I am going for the best,Far across the ocean deep,So try and keep your mind at rest.

You have still one left to cheer you,One who never caused you pain,When I’m gone he will be near you,And soon, I hope, we’ll meet again.

For the past say you’ll forgive me,Bless me with your loving hand,And I’ll pray each moment for theeIn that far off distant land.

Then, dear mother, cease your weeping,When I’m o’er the ocean wide,I will be in Jesus’ keeping,And for me He will provide.

And mind those words, dear mother,When I am far from thee,My right hand, it will wither,Ere you’ll forgotten be.

Then, good-bye, dearest mother,My grief no tongue could tell,And you my only brother,God bless you both, farewell.

[ 37 ]

VIVE LE ROI.

Come cheer for brave Chisholm in triumph advancing,In glory and honour his laurels to claim,Bright are the eyes that upon him are glancing,And the fond hearts that love him feel proud of the name.

From famous Midlothian, the home of his boyhood,He came here to Glasgow his gifts to impart,And well hath he prospered, loyal and brave he stood,A Liberal in hand and a Liberal in heart.

And now to the top of the ladder we send himWith our cause in his hands that onward must go;We, his true followers, shall always befriend himWhile the city re-echoes in vive le roi.

Those words of brave Primrose we long will remember,When he stood here amongst us and honourably said,“I thank you my friends, and my place I surrender,In this glorious contest my decision is made.

“I request Ballie Chisholm be unanimously electedTo preside as Lord Provost in our grand community,As a prominent member most highly respected,And his cordial supporter I always will be.”

Then our municipal chief to that speech did respond,He thanked Mr. Primrose for his kindness that day,And acknowledged the manner in which he had withdrawn,That no barrier whatever might stand in the way.

Then long live our Provost, our joy and our pride,Every effort of his from our hearts we will bless,May he reign in the city that’s built on the Clyde,Where we find there is nothing succeeds like success.

[ 38 ]

Health and prosperity long may he see,And the true cup of happiness constantly flow,

While in the future our motto, shall beLet Glasgow flourish, vive le roi.

[ 39 ]

THE SOLDIER’S PARTING.

RECITATION.

This terrible war between the British and the BoerIs the subject of interest wherever you be.Wives, mothers, and sweethearts some loved one deplore,Their anguish and sorrow heartrending to see.

One end scene I witnessed keeps fresh in my mind—At the station in Queen Street, while waiting the trainA band of brave red-coats, with knapsacks behind,Were parting with friends, and my heart ached with pain.

A poor, weeping mother, with tangled grey hair,Stood clasping the hand of her son;They were bidding good-bye at the head of the stair—No friends were allowed to go down.

“Dear mother” he said, ‘for my sake do not weep,Some day you will welcome me home,”Look up and be cheerful, the brightest side keep,And pray for me when I am gone.

“I want your sweet image with me to remain,Not weeping, but happy and gay;And, although we may never on earth meet again,Be proud that your son gave his young life away.

In this glorious cause fur my country and QueenThis arm shall be strengthened, this heart shall be true;And the charm that will lead me the bullets between—To victory or death—is this last look on you.”

[ 40 ]

Then the mother made answer in tenderest tone,“My prayers shall for ever be with you, dear Jack;But oh, to be happy when you will be gone,Don’t ask me, my darling, to promise you that.

Go fight for the honour of Scotland, my son,Forgive every pang I have made you endure;Kind Nature demands that the fountain shall runWhen the heart it lies bleeding in every pore.

But as firm as the rocks on our sea-bound coast;I would read the black letter in transports of joyThough the Union Jack covered the form I love most,Rather than find you a coward, my boy.”

Then hush!—What was that? Was it lightning that flashedLike a bright ray from heaven those two hearts to cheerAs the soldier his hand o’er his forehead dashed?Ah, no, ‘twas not that, it was only—a tear.

And deem him no coward, for the grief of his heartForced that tear from his eyes, where it trembled before;More bitter than death is the anguish to partWith those that we love and may never see more.

The train then came in—they took one last embrace;The signal, “All clear”—he was gone from her sight.I shall never forget the sad look on her face,Not, a dry cheek was there when they parted that night.

God help that poor mother and thousands moreWho have got the same trials to share;May the angels of sympathy stand by their doorIs the writer’s most heart-feeling prayer.

May He guard Britain’s sons on the African plain,Poor exiles from home far away;And send them safe back to their loved ones again,Who are mourning in Scotland to-day.

[ 41 ]

ON PRESENTING A BOOK TO A FRIEND.

My dearest friend, accept this token,Filled with words of truth and love—Words that were so truly spokenBy the King who reigns above.May it cheer you when in sorrow,And relieve you when in pain;Then when dawns that shining morrow,You will need no more complain.While the years roll past unheededOne request I ask of thee,

Every time you chance to read it,Say you will remember me.

[ 42 ]

TO AN OLD FRIEND ON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST CHILD.

Dear Annie, I was glad to hearOf your fine baby boy,Oh, may lie bring you comfort, dear,And fill your heart with joy.And since you are a mother now

May blessings kind and trueFrom heaven that sacred name endowSuch is my wish for you.And may those fervent words of joy

You breathed, my loving friend,When they told you of your baby boy, Be with you till the end.And as each year shall pass away,Until life’s journey’s done.Oh, Annie dear, may you still say,“ Thank God for my big son.”

[ 43 ]

PRETTY LITTLE ROSIE.

Pretty little Rosie, auntie loves you well,How that she would miss you only one can, tell;And how mother loves you, yes, and father too—You have been their sunshine all the winter throughNow when in full glory, summer days have, come,You will soon be able through the house to run.And when father’s coming, his daily work all bye,Proudly he will carry you on his shoulder high.Pretty little Rosie, you are blind to sin,And life is a journey we must all begin.So it will with you, pet, be, the very same,But God will protect you—blessed be His name!He it is, my darling, watcheth over all,And like a loving Father, He hears us when we call.Pretty little Rosie, you will mind some day,What your auntie tells you, when she is far awayFrom those lovely eyes, child, there will drop a tear,And thy voice may call me, when I cannot hear;But remember always, my dark-eyed little tot,In this heart of mine, love, you ne’er shall be forgot.

[ 44 ]

ON THE BONNIE GREEN BANKS O’ THE LEVEN.

Song.

You may wander faur awa’ in search o’ scenes fu braw,But your words will be false an’ deceivin’,

Should you tell me you have got on this earth a sweeter spotThan the bonnie, green banks o’ the Leven!

Where sheltered calm an’ still, on each side a heather hill,And the smoke of industry is heavin’Up frae every giant stalk, we can see them while we walkOn the bonnie, green banks o’ the Leven.

Balloch to Dalquhurn, when youth’s lamp did brightly burn,In the simmer, when hearts ken nae grievin’,Haun clasped in haun, together we would staunOn the bonnie, green banks o’ the Leven.

Where sheltered calm an’ still, on each side a heather hill,And the smoke of industry is heavin’Up frae every giant stalk, we can see them while we walkOn the bonnie, green banks o’ the Leven.

Thus dear, dear, to me, and always will be,The joys that fond memories are weavin’,For naething can compare wi’ the nichts we wandered there,On the bonnie, green banks o’ the Leven.

Where sheltered calm an’ still, on each side a heather hill,And the smoke of industry is heavin’Up frae every giant stalk, we can see them while we walkOn-the bonnie, green banks o’ the Leven.

[ 45 ]

THE FAULT IS ONLY MINE.

Look not with anger on the child,Cause not the tears to flow,

But speak in accents soft and mild,When he the truth will know.

And when those eyes of bonnie blue,Each day will gaze in thine,Remember this, I ask of you,The fault is only mine.

And if it is God’s will to spareMy darling little boy,May He in answer to my prayerFill this poor heart with joy.

Though times are hard since he has came,Some day the sun will shine,My spotless babe is not to blame.The fault is only mine.

[ 46 ]

THE GIRLS OF CROFTENGEA.

Song.

Had you. any ideaThat, in CroftengeaAre the sweetest young creatures that ever were seen?I think you’re a stranger,So beware of the danger,Of falling in love with each charming colleen!

They are always so pretty,Those gems of my ditty,In neat coats and shortgowns or dresses so fine;The dark ones, the fair ones,The tall ones, the small ones,You could not resist them—they are simply divine!

You may think yourselves great men,But stand by the gate, then,When once you have seen them you’re caught in the snare.Now you have an idta—So shun CroftengeaUnless you’ve a heart and a cabin to spare.

[ 47 ]

ROSINA! ROUND THAT NAME OF THINE.

Rosina! round that name of thine,A sister’s memories aft entwine,Star of my path in days of yore,Guide my frail bark till I reach the shore.

Rosina dear, in childhood’s day,In your kind arms I often lay;You kept me in thy faithful care,And made long ringlets of my hair.

Until those looks are white as snow,Rosina, I shall never knowA gem more priceless or divineThan, sister dear, that name of thine.

[ 48 ]

OOR WEE JOE

The wildest laddie ever sentTo mortal here below,A puir auld grannie to tormentIs oor wee Joe.

In the hoose an’ oot the hoose,Peace, we never know,It’s hard to staun sic hot abuseFrae oor wee Joe.

But still I wis a wean masel’,And through the same, did go,

And time a different tale will tellFor oor wee Joe.

I think he wull be something yet,As certain signs doth show,For he can play the clarionet—Can oor wee Joe.

The piano he can also play,Until the teardrops flow,And only seven year auld the dayIs oor wee Joe.

[ 49 ]

I KENT A WEE LADDIE.

I kent a wee laddie on Bonhill’s green braes,He wis my wee playmate of happier daysThat wis long, long ago, but I canna, forgetMy playmate of childhood, though it’s years since we met.Some fond recollections filled my bosom to-day,As my eyes through the paper did carelessly stray.On the war news I lingered, and a voice seemed to say,“I have news of your dear little playmate to-day.”When I read doon the list of the wounded I seenThe name I had cherished—but what could it mean?Was he really lieutenant—that playmate o’ mine,Who had fought all my battles in days o’ langsyne.I wrote to his sister the very next day,And she answered me back in a maist feeling way,“What you read in the papers, my friend, in quite true,I am proud that my brother was remembered by you.You will now share our sorrow,” were the sad words she said,“For a wire came this morning, and our loved one is dead.”Truth in stranger than fiction, from the cradle to the grave,To think my wee playmate fell a lieutenant brave!

[ 50 ]

O MOTHER! JUST A LITTLE WHILE.

Song.

O mother! just a little whileAnd this sad life will soon be o’er;Although to-day you see me smile,I feel much weaker than before.Those hands will soon be cold in death,And stiff and straight those fingers thenShall cease their work with my last breath,And never more will hold the pen.O mother! just a little while,—Too soon, alas, the bitter end—False pleasures shall no more beguileThe hour of that approaching friend.Yes, friend of all—yet dreaded so

I have no fear to meet him now.You cannot ward from me that blow—In meek submission you must bow.O mother! just a little while,The parting sigh I soon will give;I bask no more beneath that smileThat once had power to make me live.My guiding star of byegone daysWill shine no more by yon green tide,They wrecked my peace, those fatal rays,O mother! just a little while!

[ 51 ]

ODE TO ROBERT BURNS.25TH JANUARY.

Hail, gifted soul of genius bright!To thee my memory turns,For on this date you first saw light—Immortal Robert Burns!

The king may tread in lofty hall,Where poortith cauld he spurnsBut as the monarch of them all,I greet thee, Robert Burns!

Thy works have let a nation seeThee man she truly mourns,And on this day their toast shall beImmortal Robert Burns!

[ 52 ]

GLASGOW, THAT FAMOUS CITY.

Glasgow, that famous city,Scene of much heartrending pity,Centre of pleasure and pain.Chokeful of grief and of follyUnder the guise of being jolly—Also, many victims you gain.

No one keeps standing a minute—The rush and the whirl all are in it,And always the same day by day.I wonder where they are all going—Like the Clyde ever constantly flowing,

Men, women, and children each day!

And still we this motto doth nourish,When we proudly say, “Let Glasgow flourish!”

For our sons are mixed up in the strife—In Glasgow that famous city—Scene of much heartrending pity—A drama drawn out from real life.

[ 53 ]

IN THE BONNIE WEE TOON O’ RENTON.

Song.

Secure frae winter’s raging storm,Wi’ nice wee hooses snug an’ warm,Whaur shelters mony a stalwwt form—In the bonnie wee toon o’ Renton.

Some folk wid rin her doon to me,But verra sune, I let them see,They canna, boast a grand M.P.Like the bonnie wee toon o’ Renton.

Hor fitba’ sons get hearty cheers,When on the field that team appears;Lord Roberts welcomed volunteersFrae the bonnie, wee toon o’ Renton.

For they can fecht for freedom’s richt,An’ there it wis ae April nichtThis rhyming lassie first saw licht—In the bonnie wee toon o’ Renton.

[ 54 ]

BONNIE BONHILL.

Song.

Tell me not of grand placesFar over the sea!

The charm of strange facesHas no charm for me.The spot that I treasureShall Nature’s cup fill,And deep is the measureI toast to Bonhill!

Here’s a health to the quarry,Wild, rugged, and steep,

Where her falls oft did carryMy sorrows to sleep.Each green lane and wildwood—I cherish them still—Sweet home of my childhood—Historic Bonhill!

[ 55 ]

DO NOT TURN AWAY, LOVE,

Song.

Do not turn away, Love, think of long ago!If I an unworthy—you have made me go.Let me share your name, love, make me all thine own,And the poorest cot on earth, love, with you shall be my throne!

You say that you must leave me; the gipsy, then, was rightWhen those words she told me in the park to-night,That the dearest treasure I on earth possessedWould by one far distant be torn from my breast!

You go to seek that stranger, and thus it is we part!You cast now lightly from you, your toy, this broken heart!But every pang it bearest shall haunt you night and mom,Beneath the smile thou wearest my wrongs shall plant a thorn!

This life shall soon be over and when we meet again,My false, deceitful lover, this heart shall feel no pain!But you shall have pains eternal, for truly it has been mad,To regions dark infernal falls he who slights a maid!

[ 56 ]

THE AULD PUMP WELL.

Song.

Oh, weel dae’I min’In the days o’ lang syne,

In the toon o’ Bonnull stood an auld pump well.An’ believe me, ‘tis trueWhit I’ll whisper to you,

That if it could speak some queer tales it wid tell.From the faur end o’ Bonnull,They wid come their stoup to full,I aften thocht for them it had a magic spell.

Each Jenny had her Jo,An’ before they hame wid go,

The lads wid draw the water oot the auld pump well,But wi’ weemin an’ wi’ men,There is mony a change since then,

Mony a sad an’ sorra pairting only Him abune can tell.Yet the Vale man faur awa,When he’ll hear this verse or twa,Will rejoice in byegane memories o’ the auld pump well.

[ 57 ]

A VERSE NOW AND THEN.

I would like to expressThrough the voice of my penAll my grief and distressIn a verse now and then.

I can tell how I feelIn my cosy, wee den,Contented and leal—

To a verse now and then.

When the world is asleep—I am happiest then,And my vigil I keepIn a verse now and then.

Life is dull at the bestFor both women and men;I find comfort and restIn a verse now and then.

[ 58 ]

SHAMROCK NUMBER II.

Song.

Air—“The Dear Little Shamrock.”

There’s a dear little boat sailed from Gourock to-day.The sweetest that ever went from us;A green and gold gem that will go far away,And return with the cup, to Sir Thomas.‘Twas our Sons of the Rock, brave heroes of Neptune,That sent forth from Denny’s this Shamrock for Lipton.

This dear little Shamrock he called number twoMay a nation’s good wishes attend it!

And when it is tossed on the waters so blue.With our prayers we will always befriend it.God speed you, my boys, said Sir Thomas, with emotion!O may those sweet words guide her safe o’er the ocean.

Then success crown the race of our dear Shamrock II.,And when Sandybook she has dipped in,

May our dear Captain Sycamore, officers, and crewBring laurels to Sir Thomas Lipton!

And Denny’s brave sons in Dumbarton that dayShall all join together in one loud hip hurrah!

Now last, but not. least, while our Shamrock doth steer,And before Scotia’s shores shall resign her,

There is one man well worthy a good hearty cheer—Brave Watson, her noble designer.

May his labour and toil and science so clever,On American soil be remembered for ever!

[ 59 ]

A MOTHER’S LAMENT.

My puir heart is sad, and there’s naething can cheer me,Frae morning till nicht the saut tear dime my e’e;I call on my laddie, but he canna hear me,For he is a sodger faur ower the sea!

The braw tartan covers the form I lo’e dearly,Wi’ his gun on his shouther in sunshine and rain,Then answer me truly, I ask it sincerely,O say will I ever see Neily again!

They are fechting awa’, as we see frae the papers,I thocht that the war wis a’ settled lang syne,

I wish they were dune wi’ their nonsense and capers,The flowers o’ the nation hae left us to pine!

I think I’m a’richt when I get a bit letter,But still in my side is that sair crushing pain,An’ weel do I ken it will never get better,O say will I ever we Neily again!

[ 60 ]

THE SOLDIER.

Song.

On the banks of Water Leven,Dwells a maiden sad and lone,Since the lad she loved so dearlyFar across the sea has gone.

They were both so fond and faithful,Nothing could their love divide;Now he’s gone to be a soldierFar from home and Leven side.

Lonely now the maiden wandersO’er each fond remembered scene,Where she wandered with her loverEre he went to serve his Queen.

Other lovers may surround her,But their pleadings are in vain,For her heart is pledged for ever,And she cannot love again.

One alone she has loved dearly,Soon she hopes to be his bride,When from war he comes triumphantBack to home and Leven side!

[ 61 ]

THE NEW BRIDGE AT BONHILL.

Oh, the New Bridge looks grand and majestic,The old one looked shabby and bare,The New Bridge is really artistic,And gives our wee town quite an air.

Oh, the New Bridge brought thousands to view it,

The old one is hidden front sight,But I wonder if any one knew it,How I longed for the Old Bridge to-night!

The New Bridge in Council has took well,It has shared in Lord Overtoun’s gold,But just like the new broom it looks well,Yet it has not the charms of the old.

The Old Bridge could tell them a story,Who boast, the new beauty so brightAnd the Old Vale folk, feeble and hoary,Will cling to her memories to-night.

The New Bridge will harbour no Jimmie,To stop you and claim his bawbee,But the Old Bridge had charms to win ye,That from childhood hath woven round me.

But some one will pay for the new one,Since the old one is gone from our sight;Yet for all they are saying and doingI long for the Old Bridge to-night.

[ 62 ]

WISH OF THE PE OPLE OF THE VALE OF LEVEN ON THE MARRIAGE OF MAJOR HENRY BROCK, OF AUCHENHEGLISH.

The flags are floating in the breeze and all our hearts are gay,The Scotch hillsides with bonfires blaze, for this is the wedding dayOf one beloved by rich and poor—respected far and near,Worthy son of a father pure, whose, name. we all revere. The cannon’s boom doth herald out o’er meadow, hill and dale,And loving hearts with joy now shout in dear old Leven’s Vale;How proud we feel to see this day when from Loch Lomond side,Our gallant Major, smiling gay, goes forth to meet his bride!Then let us all in mirth and joy our wishes, send to you,May care or sorrow never annoy a heart so good and true.Fond tributes of their love sincere thy comrade soldiers send,For in their hearts they hold you dear—their Major and their friend.Then listen while thy people pray to God the help of all,That endless blessings always may on bride and bridegroom fall.From every heart some kindly thought will make thy people say,“God bless thee, Major Henry Brock, on this thy wedding day,”And may this day remembered be when both are old and frail :Such is our wish we send to you from bonnie Leven’s Vale.

[ 63 ]

VERSES COMPOSED IN HONOUR OF THE SILVER JUBILEE OF SIR JAMES AND LADY COLQUHOUN OF LUSS.

Rouse ye warriors of the mountains,Sound your trumpets through the glen,Pour the nectar from the fountains,Drink the toast like Highland men!

Come, M’Gregor, stand ye ready!Hated foes no longer thou!Meet Sir James and his fair lady,Place fresh laurels on each brow.

Haste thee, children, with thy flowers,Gathered by Loch Lomond’s side,Twine the stems in fairy bowers,For the bridegroom and his bride.

Sing aloud in joyful chorus,Let thy glorious anthem be,This happy pair who stand before us,On their Silver Jubilee!

[ 64 ]

VERSES COMPOSED IN HONOUR OF THE SILVER JUBILEE OF SIR THOMAS AND LADY GLENCOATS, FERGUSLIE, PAISLEY.

All hail to thee, dear honoured pair,On this thy silver jubilee!May angels bright thy gladness share,And every joy descend on thee!

Who doth not love that glorious name,That shines to-day in high renown,On the industrial scroll of fameThe well-known Coats of Paisley town.

The years now gone hath kindly been,Yet memories tinged with grief remain,Life’s joys and sorrows each hath seen,But shared with love that banished pain.

Long may thy looms of honest toil,The joy and pride of every heart,Bring forth rich fruit on Scottish soil,And find thee take thy active part.

God bless you both, thou honoured pair,And may thine eyes in glory, seeAnother day as bright and fair,When dawns thy Golden Jubilee!

[ 65 ]

VERSES COMPOSED IN HONOUR OF THE GRAND JUUBILEE OF MESSRS. DENNY & BROTHERS, 22ND DECEMBER, 1894.

We welcome thou, our honoured chief!With loving hearts we say,This is the hour to banish grief,While banners float so gay.

How proud are we this day to see

And mingle with the clan,To celebrate the JubileeOf the Good Old Man.

Long years ago three brothers brave,With hearts together bound,Fought side by side until they gaveA blessing to the town.

And on the spot where grass grew greenSome fifty years ago,Our handsome burgh now is seen,Where peace and plenty flow.

Three branches from one tender root,Of two by death bereft,And now of that dear cherished fruit,One branch alone is left.

Though time has changed that youthful brow,And he is bending low,The same fond heart is with us nowAs fifty years ago.

[ 66 ]

And she, the comfort of thy life,May choicest blessings fallOn her thy fond and faithful wife,Like thee, beloved by all!

The rich and poor, both far and near,At home and o’er the sea,The name of Denny will revereOn this thy Jubilee!

Around the walls, how grand the sight,What words are those we see IHail to the chief! in letters bright,To mark thy Jubilee.

Then, health and happiness, we knowThose loving words they mean,That coming years may find you soAs you have ever been.

Nothing without labour—that impartsHow since you first began,With ready hands and willing hearts,Brave Denny led the van.

But sweetest motto on the wall.Our hearts this day doth nourish,Are these fond words expressed by all,“Let Leven Shipyard flourish!”

Then honoured Sir, and Lady fair,Long may you happy be,Throughout Dumbarton is our prayerOn this thy Jubilee!

And may thy sons and daughters standBy thee till life is ear,And land you both a helping bandAs you gave them before.

[ 67 ]

We now will give one parting cheerFor Messrs. Denny’s clan,

God bless that lady loved so dear,And the Good Old Man!

Thy people never will forget,No matter where they be,

This happy day, when thousands met,To keep thy Jubilee!

[ 68 ]

ON A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING I SAW AT JAMESTOWN, OCTOBER IST, 1901.

In the sweet little village of Jamestown,The people enjoy the grand scene,And hail the first day of OctoberAs a day they will keep fresh and green.

In that dear village church stood a maiden,And another, she loved as her life,They entered as two blushing sweethearts,And they passed out as fond man and wife.

Though the leaves of the autumn are fallingAnd the trees look so desolate and bare,Yet the sweet flower of old Balloch CastleIs blooming in beauty most fair.

God send them safe through the winter,Secure from all sorrow and pain,May the spring flowers adorn their pathway,When Nature is smiling again.

Kind heaven, keep safe this glad union,Bright angels their footsteps attend,And may this first day of OctoberBe the dawn of their joys without end.

[ 69 ]

THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF AN OLD VALE OF LEVEN COUPLE.

All hail to this hour of rejoicingThat has found us so happy and gay,

In the midst of our dear loving childrenWe welcome our Jubilee day.

Oh, to think of the years we together—Full fifty have passed since we stoodAnd vowed to be true to each other,A promise kept faithful and good.

Oh, well I remember how happyWe sat by our first baby’s cot,And gazed with such infinite pleasureWhen our darling first learned to tot.

Even now when I see them around us,Dear husband, I think it a dream,When I look on their radiant facesOnce more it fair maiden I seem.

But although I am aged, dear husband,And changed since we stood man and wife,I can call this the happiest momentI ever have seen in my life.

For it brings back such sweet pleasant memories,That we cherished in bright bygone years,And our hearts are so full at this meeting,That our eyes have now grown dim with tears.

Then all hail to this hour of rejoicing!Thank God He has spared us to seeThe fruit of our third generationNow join in our grand Jubilee!

[ 70 ]

My LADY OVERTOUN.

When I see the morning break,My thoughts are with thee all the while;But when her golden beams awakeIt minds me of thy winning smile—

So calm, so pure, thou rose of June,My gentle Lady Overtoun!

One lovely morn I chanced to strayWithin thy grounds, and quietly stoodEnraptured there till close of day,I gazed on all so grand and good.I thought of thee in life’s fair noon,My lovely Lady Overtoun!

I thought of him thy noble Lord,Who knows what wealth of rubies are,And yet of all his precious hoardOne wish of thine were dearer far.God spare you both, I ask the boon.

My Lord and Lady Overtoun!

[ 71 ]

THE DEAR OLD PUBLIC HALL.

Song.

Air—“See me dance the polka”

Some boast of great theatresThe Metropole and Grand,Their Royalty and operas,With scarcely room to, stand:But to me the dearest pleasureIs a concert or a ball,Where I could tread a measureIn the dear old Public Hall!

Or when our Vale DramaticWill act the brave “Rob Roy,”And the League of the Cross with the “ Colleen BawnMake all hearts jump with joy!I am happier in my sixpenny seatThan fine ladies in their stall,For I enjoy each perfect treatIn the dear old Public Hall!

Our Vale folk like a comicThat will make them roar with fun;And our working men can fully testThe singers when they’re done.Our Leven Christy Minstrels,

I appreciate them all,And I long for such scenes in winter

In the dear old Public Hall!

[ 72 ]

CHILDHOOD DAYS.

O where are now those happy daysThat knew no care or pain,

When I ran the bonnie Bonhill braes—Shall they not come again?

Why can I not sing blythe and gay,From sin and sorrow free?

Those days must be far, far awayOf childhood’s infancy!

Ah, yes, they are forever gone!They, never shall return,

And my wee playmates one by oneAll left me here to mourn.

But when the Lord for us has sent,As we in turn shall be,

We will be glad our children went

In childhood’s infancy!

For when the child grows up a man—Now this is what I say,

Keep back from sin he never can,Temptation leads the way.

God loves the blossoms from the rose,And guards that tender tree,

Then culls them in the sweet reposeOf childhood’s infancy!

Still who is there that can forgetThose happy childhood days!Each cherished spot where oft we metOn Bonhill’s sunny braes!Although I may be old and frail,They shall live through life with meThose happy days that tell the taleOf childhood’s infancy!

[ 73 ]

CHANGED.

I wish I knew the reason whyOf all this sudden change!

He never speaks when passing But looks at me so strange!

I know that I have, done no wrong,I always have been true,

And now I think the hours so long,And wish I only knew.

He may have seen another face,That round his heart doth twine,

And now perhaps she fills the spaceI fondly thought was mine!

But surely on some future day,When thinking on the past,

He’ll let all coldness pass away,And come to me at last!

For that sweet moment I will pray,And constant still shall be,

No other’s smile will make me gayUntil he comes to me.

When I will feel his kisses sweet,No longer need I sigh,

My heart wil be with joy complete—I will know the reason why!

[ 74 ]

THE OLD BEGGAR MAN.

I WAS HUNGRY AND YE GAVE ME TO EAT.

I sat down to breakfast one cold winter’s day,Of no costly dainties my table could boast,No eggs and fresh butter before me there lay—It simply consisted of tea and hot toast.

But I was quite happy, and hungry beside,A good healthy sign, and what could I ask more!Then I heard someone knocking—“How horrid,” I cried,As I rose from the table to open the door.

O angels of pity! what a sight met my gaze,An old beggar man scarcely able to speak.“Would you help me, kind miss, with a copper?“ he says,While like drops of pure crystal tears coursed down his cheek.

I made him this answer as well as I could,Poor man, I am sorry I have nothing to spare,I have not a penny, but something as good.What is here on this table you are welcome to share!

In came that old beggar, and sat by the fire,I gave him my breakfast—‘twas all that I had.And the way he enjoyed it my heart did inspire,For it made the poor creature look happy and glad.

Then he rose up so cheerful and pleasant to see.“Good-bye and God bless you “ were the last words lie said,“And for this kind action you have done unto me,By this time to-morrow it shall be repaid.”

[ 75 ]

I had business before me that very same dayA poem to present to a certain great man,As weary and footsore I trudged on my way,The poor beggar’s blessing in every thought ran.

My poem was accepted, in a castle so grand,“You are gifted, my child,” the great chieftain did say,“And use thy gift well,” then he placed in my handA cheque for five pounds at the close of the day.

Now this is as true as the gospel you read;Kind heaven did send too this noble rewardIn return for my breakfast in the hour of needOn that very same evening I dined with a lord.

[ 76 ]

PORTRAIT OF AN EDINBURGH CHIEL.

Now do you know Alexander Lees, of Alexander Street—He’s a publican, a landlord, and a man?Do you not, well I am sorry, but perhaps some day you’ll meet,

So just listen, I’ll describe him if I can.

Well, a big, stout, jolly fellow indeed is Mr. Lees,So rough that you would wait to hear him say,In a voice like peals of thunder that would shake a dozen trees,“Come, chuck it here, you kid, and clear the way!”

He can aim as good as David with a calm and steady shot,He is learned in each page that history gives;On the stage of elocution many a welcome he has got.For his voice could touch the tender’st chord that lives.

As a flourishing wine merchant he can make his business pay,And I do not know where you would find his match,He won’t take a hen to market upon a rainy day,For he is wiser than the fish he goes to catch.

Yet this monarch of the forest can be gentle as a lamb,And his heart I’m sure is bigger than the Ben,And I don’t care who will hear it, I’m not pileing on the ham,When I say he is a hero amongst men!

For one action that I caught him at, my inmost feelings stirred,O pray do not. mention it, I beg,Unseen from my window I watched him hold a bird,And he really had a poultice on its leg.

[ 77 ]

Now, I’m sure that you will know him, this brave Edinburgh chiel,Should you meet him when you are on pleasure bent;But one feature left unnoticed in this portrait true as steel,Is what Mr. Lees would look like if we could not pay the rent.

[ 78 ]

ON PARTING WITH MAGGIE.

It was in the month of MayWhen the flowers were blooming gay,

I lost the dear old chum I loved so well,And my heart feels like to breakFor the bonnie lassies sake—

The chum that waited on me at the bell.

In the mornings at the gateNo one ever found us late.For we always liked to start before the rest

And doon in Dalmonach Fiel’We sat at our spinning wheel,

Until the foreman said we could attend the best.

Since we parted I’m near dead.And can’t think to rise from bed.And I don’t know what will happen if I’m late

Dear old chum, God bless her!The bonnie lass I’ll miss her

Every night and morning at the gate.

I just heard the other day,After she had gono away,That Dalmonach Company had made up their mindA great gathering for to takeAnd a testimonial makeUnto us, the cleverest lassies they could find.

But although my heart is sad,I must just try to be glad,And those few months soon unto a close will draw,Then doon in Dalmonach Fiel’To her dear old spinning wheelShe’ll return again in glory from Alva.

[ 79 ]

THE DARK-HAIRED MAID.

O bonnie winding Leven, flowing onward day by day,You little know the sorrow that has on thy bosom lain;Last night a dark-haired maiden beside thee here did stray,And told you of the burden that filled her heart with pain.

It was the old, old story, a trusting heart betrayed!Fair promises forgotten—another creature provedUnworthy of the name of man—another ruined maid,Left and and broken-hearted by him she dearly loved.

And here it was she wandered, sobbing forth her bitter taleOf the idol that lay shattered in the false, alluring past,On thy green banks here she whispered her farewell to Leven’s Vale,And ‘twas here that dark-haired maiden on thy bosom breathed her last.

She took her darling baby, and she bound it to her waist,Her spotless babe just christened on that day,And she said—“ Thy mother’s sorrow, my wee lamb, you shall not taste,For we both will go together from this weary world away!”

O thou bonnie banks of Leven, favourite haunt of lovers still!That scene I shall remember till I breathe my latest breat :The finding of that mother and babe all hearts with grief did fill,To think how that poor broken heart proved faithful until death!

[ 80 ]

TEA-TEA-TEA.

Song.

There is a cherished little plant,A plant that I love well—

And the smallest shop wherein you popThis treasured plant do sell!O this most delicious blend

That grows far o’er the sea,

Wherever I go I recommendA good, strong cup of tea!

Chorus

Tea-tea-tea!Sir Thomas Lipton’s tea,In royal letters seen, served to the Queen,The famous Lipton’s tea!

Porridge may be good enough,And broth may be the same,

But if you want to know the stuffIt’s tea I would proclaim.Whenever troubles or trials begin.Just take advice from me,You may depend there’s comfort inA good, strong cup of tea.

Chorus

Tea-tea-tea!Cooper and Nelson’s tea,

Will banish all pain and make you feel young again,One cup of their special tea!

The first thing in the morningWhen from my bed I rise,

Its fragrance bright makes me sleep all night,And I feel as in Paradise.

[ 81 ]

Of all the places I have been,Or ever mean to be,

The happiest moment I have seen.Was when I got my tea!

Chorus

Tea-tea-tea!Mazawattee; tea—

Makes life a pleasure, this golden treasure,Sweet Mazawattee tea!

[ 82 ]

SWEET MARY LEE

O fair as the morn was the publican’s daughter,Gentle and loving as maiden could be,The rich and the poor and the humble who sought her,Said an angel in mind was the sweet Mary Lee.

No touch of false pride had this maiden about her,In her neat, modest home a true comfort was she;Her parents oft said they could not live without her,

For a treasure to them was the fair Mary Lee.

Enraptured I sat when she played the piano,And her voice would accompany each heart-thrilling key,So graceful her form and fair as Diana!A gem of pure nature was kind Mary Lee.

O bright were the eyes of the publican’s daughter,And they were the truest I ever did see;In her gown of pure white, like a nymph, from the water,Is the memory I cherish of sweet Mary Lee!

[ 83 ]

NEUR-AI-GIA.

Recitation.

Ma hert wis near broken frae mornin’ till nicht,I wis tortured, believe me, frae dark till daylicht,Wi’ stouns in ma ear, ma cheek, an’ ma heid,Till at last I had really tae wish I wis deid!I gaed tae that man wi’ the chisel an’ file,That’s whit I ca’ the nippers, and I neax got the jile,For ma, upper region ho gied sic a drawThat I fled wi’ his whiskers, the shilling an’ a’!But he had ma, hat, though I ran aff the while,Aye, an’ pairt o’ ma, teeth ‘tween his chisel and file!For the pairt wi’ the nerve in’t was still in my cheek,An’ ma mither, puir body, couldna get me to speak.I roared an’ I grat, no’ a meenit o’ peaceUntil daylicht cam’ in, then it seemed for tae cease.When eleven o’clock cam’ ta’ the chemist I wentAn’ I asked for the doctor, then in a wis sent,Tae his room, whaur he sat wi’ sic medical grace!But he nearly collapsed when he looked at ma, face.He said I should never ha’e got the teeth oot,Then smiled at ma, jaw a’ rowed up in a cloot.He ordered me hame—“And go straight to your bed,I will see you to-morrow,” wis the words that he said.He had gien me some poothers to immediately take,An’ I thocht they wid lessen that terrible ache.He cam’ the next day, and the next day again,But his visits an’ bottles never eased ma, sair pain.Till at last I took courage, an’ “Doctor,” says I,“Dae you no think yersel’ that ma bill’s pretty high?My wages are sma’ an’ I’ve naething in store,So yer welcome tae ca’ but the wolf’s at the door.”Before ye could wink, he’d his hat aff the rack,An’ he says, “Oh, I really won’t need to come back,You don’t need to be bedfast, start work any day,You have had a slight touch of neur-al-gia,”Well I christened that doctor a beautiful name,An’ am shair he deserved it before he got hame,For be sent me a bill, ten and sixpence to pay,For a simple attack of neur-al-gia.

[ 84 ]

ON TWO LOVERS PARTING.

The parting hour has come at last,And broken now the spell

That bound us to the happy pastTo which we bid farewell.

As lovers we will never morePledge faith down Balloch Loan,

Or wander by Loch Lomond shore,Ah, no, those days are gone!

The time hath passed so quick, I seemTo feel that I must wake

And find it all a happy dreamEre we good-bye will take!

But bear in mind where’er I roam,Or how the years may go,

Each time my thoughts will turn to homeOne pleasure I will know!

And that will be the memories sweet—The dearest to my heart—

Of the joy I felt with you to meetAnd the pain I felt to part!

[ 85 ]

A BLESSING FROM A BROKEN HEART.

God bless thee, kind and noble heart,Where ever you may be,

While life shall last though far apart,I will remember thee!

And every night before I sleepThose fond words I will say,

“May angels bright their vigil keepAmidst the battle fray.

And let their glorious presence clearKeep danger from the side

Of him who watched one I loved dear,His comrade, till he died.”

Ah, many a time I mark the sceneOn that red battle plain;

The tartan wave the ranks betweenWhere Britain’s sons lie slain.

I see another soldier fallWhile a comrade kneels to pray,

He hears him on his loved ones call,Life’s ebbing fast away!

He takes his last sad message now,They shake each other’s hands,

He wipes the death sweat from his brow—They part in foreign lands!

All this thy noble heart hath done,You were that comrade brave,

Who sent my dead love’s message homeAnd all this kindness gave;

And this I say, in life or death,Where ever I may be,

Until I breathe my latest breathI will remember thee!

[ 86 ]

AE NICHT A KNOCK CAM TO OUR DOOR.

Ae nicht a knock cam to our door,Drawing nigh the chap o’ twelve o’clock,My mither said, “ Who can it be;It’s bye the hour for decent folk!”

But aye ma, heart geid pit-apat!Ah, me! it wis an awfu’ sin,For wi’ each deafening rat-tat-tatI thocht the door wid sune be in.

A laddie an’ twa weemin frail,Stood shivering in our hoose that nicht;I laugh noo, when I tell the tale—But, oh, it wis a sorra sicht!

To see us trembling there wi’ fear,Stepping as soft as angels tread;No man had we, an’ danger near—Three lonely creatures torn frae bed.

But in a tic’ my courage rose,An’ wi’ a lood dramatic airI called, “Who dares break our repose,As you value life get down that stair!”

An’ then as if to those inside,I called, “Rise Robert, James, and John,Get down your pistol quick,” I cried.“Come, father, haste, make them move on!”

An’ then instead of rat-tat-tat,Frae heid to fuit o’ the stair they fell,Wi’ a noise just like a thunder clap,An’ laughing like to burst theirsel’.

[ 87 ]

I could not understaun the change;But when my laud next nicht I met,I really thocht it very strangeTo see his arm in splinters set—

An’ just gaun doon the Renton RoadI saw his face a’ scratched an’ sair.

I stood still, an’ says I, “My laud,Wis’t you last nicht wis up our stair?

It’s years since then, but still I seeThe rosy face o’ stalwart Ned,As he stood laughing lood an’ free,I thocht his sense completely fled.

He told me then aboot a planMade up by Jimmie an’ himsel’,To come an’ act the Bogie Man,An’ how they missed their feet an’ fell.

O, happy, happy, youthful days!Too soon, alas! thy joys are o’er,But while upon this world I gawI’ll mind that knocking at our door!

[ 88 ]

PRESENTATION OF WAR MEDALS TO THE FIRST ACTIVE SERVICE COMPANY OF VOLUNTEES, WHICH TOOK PLACE AT STIRLING CASTLF, SEPTEMBER 21ST, 1901.

Song.

Last week I went to Stirling,To see the grand review—Our gallant active service men,Our brave red, white, and blue.Called out by Sergeant Lindsay,They marched up bold and free,And foremost stood our Leven ladsOf D. R. V.

I Saw both lords and ladies there,An earl and marquis too,With the Duke and Duchess fresh and fair—All witnessed that review.Lieutenants, majors, generals,That day did all agree,No equals had our volunteersOf D. R. V.

King Edward’s representative,Who everybody knows,Buchanan Castle’s noble lord,His Grace Duke of Montrose.He gave the badge of honour then—A glorious sight to see,What joy it gave our sturdy menOf D. R. V.

[ 89 ]

How kindly he addressed them all,And great was the applause,

When he told how they at duty’s call

Had fought for Britain’s cause.He said they were now distinguished men,And that proud of them was he,Then smiled on those who bore the nameOf D. R. V.

Oh, many a mother’s son was thereTo hear those words of praise

It was a touching sight indeed—I will mind it all my days.The cream of Scotland’s rank and file,Sons of the old oak tree,That met all dangers with a smile,Our D. R. V.

But some are absent from the roll,That never shall return,

And many a babe now fatherlessAnd widows left to mourn.I mean the heroes that were slain,And in the list you’ll seeThat some of them have bore the nameOf D. R. V.

[ 90 ]

ON BOARD THE “MARY MORRISON.”

To view Loch Lomond’s scenes so grand,That Queen of Earth, most beauteous gem,Some friends did kindly welcome me,One happy day to spend with them.Wi’ honoured pride my heart did fill,And such a chance I couldna shun,So I did step wi’ richt guid willOn board the “Mary Morrison.”

There wis Mary Tall and Mary Wee,Gentle Falkirk Jeanie too,An’ sturdy Scottish Captain Leo,Wi’ Rhyming Kate made up the crew.But just as we left Balloch PierBig draps cam frae the lift aboon,Sune soaking wat like craws we satOn board the “ Mary Morrison.”

At Cree Inch we at last put aff—A sorry sicht, indeed were we,And Mary Tall did hearty laugh,Then dune her best to make the tea.But a’ in vain to licht the fire,The sticks lay splashing on the grun’,So a splendid lunch wis oor next desireIn view o’ the “ Mary Morrison.”

Then up we got to speil the brae’To seek the bonnie tongue fern there,

But such a place an’ such a day,I’ll mind till snaw white is my hair!Then back we cam wi’ draggled claes,The wecht o’ them neir pued us doon,Wi’ faces lang half deid we sprangOn board the “ Mary Morrison.”

[ 91 ]

Ye needna, ask me what I sawOr hoo I did enjoy that sail,The Weather Clerk he kens it a’An’ he can tell the waefu’ tale.But the lines oor Captain did recite,My heartfelt admiration won,He kept oor bones frae Davy JonesWhile on board the “ Mary Morrison.”

[ 92 ]

ALONE.

ALONE she stands with broken heartThe cruel world to face,While he who vowed to take her partHas left her in disgrace.But surely God will not forgetTo let the truth be known,And send her right and justice yetThough now she stands alone!

All future joys for her seem gone,Grief droops that youthful head;But the darkest hour hails the dawn,Her bitter past lies dead!The slandere’s tongue shall silenced be,That poor girl claim her own,And God will let the wide world seeShe does not stand alone!

[ 93 ]

A CHERISHED PICTURE

There’s a memory that comes to me mony a timeO’ a big ship gaun far ower the sea,Leaving auld Scotia for that distant clime—America, the land of the free.

On her deck stauns a laddie, a, bonnie Scotch chiel,And the saut tears seem ready to fa’,As he waves his Glengarry in silent fareweel,To the land he lo’ed better than a!

But kind wis dame Fortune to, Auld Reekie’s sonWho laboured wi’ unceasing toil,Until at the tap o’ the ladder he won

Honest wealth on American soil.

When that wee bit callant grow up a big man,And his gold did increase day an’ nicht,To the dear hills o’ Scotia his inmost thochts ran—The land where he first saw the licht.

And noo in his ain native toon he is seen,Where the prince of all donors is he,

In the Garden of Eden (Skibo, Castle I mean),He has a’ that this world can gie.

Beloved and respected by his fellow-men,His great heart beats true to the core,For that wee drap, o’ bluid that’s between us,” ye ken,Shall be Scotland’s delight evermore,

But it is not the great millionaire of Ardgay,That I keep in this memory o’ mine—Ah, no! the, sweet picture I cherish to-day

Is the laddie wha left us lang syne!

[ 94 ]

IN COMMEMORANION OF SIR DAVID RICHMOND’S FAREWELL TO THE COUNCIL CHAMBER, WHERE HE FAITHFULLY SERVED THE CITY AS COUNCILLOR AND LORD PROVOST FOR TWENTY YEARS.

Dear honoured Sir David, we gather here once more,But our joy at meeting is tinged with deep regret,Our loyal hearts are grieved, for it is not au revoir,But to take farewell with you we now are met.

Our kindest greetings we desire to conveyIn this true portrait we present with pride,And the grand ceremony we celebrate to-dayContains the good wishes of the province far and wide.

The service you have rendered we cannot repay,Invaluable to us the counsel thou hast shown,The prosperous position of our city to-day,To thy prudence and efficiency is due alone.

The ties of our community strengthened have beenThrough thy unfailing courtesy, guidance, and command;Great and gratifying the progress we have seenAll things flourish ‘neath thy benevolent hand.

Twenty years you have laboured thy duties to fulfil,Difficulties and trials you honourably withstood,Suggestions and improvements you have made untilYou have won our lasting esteem and gratitude.

Although to active duties no longer you respond,In our thoughts, dear Sir David, you ever shall dwell,This great day shall live with us as our fraternal bond,The sixth of November, when we bade you farewell.

[ 95 ]

Fondly we will speak of thee, when with hearts sincereWe gaze on thy picture in its honoured placeMidst those Lord Provosts who have in byegone yearsLeft us this memento—each dear remembered face.

Farewell then, farewell, our brother and our friend,Thy good deeds shall prosper, when the arrow has sped,And thy noble, example shall brighten the end,While the seed thou hast, sown in rich verdure will spread.

May the Great Architect, whose power shall never cease,Grant you the reward of the craftsman true,The wine of joy, the oil of eternal peace,And the corn of plenty, such is our wish for you.

[ 96 ]

ON READING LADY OVERTOUN’S, TOUCHING LETTER IN THE LENNOX HERALD, 18TH NOVEMBER, 1899, ON BEHALF OF THE SOLDIERS AND SAILORS’ FAMILY ASSOCIATION.

Wake! Britons! wake! to the tender appealThat is made now by one we all love and adore,She who can sympathise, she who can feel,Lord Overtoun’s lady, the friend of the poor!What greater title, although she were Queen,Could be given to her than sweet mother of grace,What brighter gems could there ever be seenThan the tears for the helpless on her beautiful face?And list to the tones of her sweet thrilling voice,Pleading for those left in sorrow and pain.Ah, well may the soul of the hero rejoice‘Midst the terrible scenes on the African plain!Far down in his breast the sweet knowledge will beThat angels are tending his loved ones at home,In the form of those noble ladies we see!Bringing sunshine and hope to the desolate and lone;How true are the words Lady Overtoun said,That wounded and maimed our brave sons may come backAfter the debt of their country is paid,Where they fought with the colours ‘neath the dear Union Jack.But alas! there are some who will never return,While the hearts and the homes both in city and townWill be shadowed with sorrow, for long they will mournThe true British soldier who laid his life down!Then wake Britons! Wake! to the tender appeal,As you read Lady Overtoun’s letter to-day,Let your actions at present your kindness reveal,And God in good time shall be sure to repay!

[ 97 ]

LOVIES TEST.

Song—Duet.

He.— Darling, what would your answer beIf I should ask some day,You to leave home, and come with me,To lands far, far away?

She.— Ah, do not ask me that question nowWhen my heart is full of pain,

For my answer must be as a sacred vow,Once made, not to break again!

He.— Is this all you care for the love I giveUntarnished now to thee?

Shall I thus in misery live,Or can you trifling be I

She.— Ah, no! I could not give you pain,No trifler, dear, am I,

But to-morrow you sail o’er the ocean main,To forget me bye and bye!

He.— That ocean wide will backward roll,The sun will cease to set,

My Maker’s hand have no controlWhen I will you forget!

She.— Then take my answer, faithful heart,I give it fond and free,

In life and death, though far apart,I will be true to thee!

[ 98 ]

PARTED.

Recitation

In Leven’s green and bonnie Vale,Where old Bonhill Bridge spans the river,Two lovers stood to tell their tale,And take farewell perhaps for ever.The maiden was both young and fair,Her eyes were of the darkest blue,The golden tresses of her hairWere rich and pleasant to the view.

But ah, those eyes were bathed in tears,In vain could she find words to say,Her heart was full of dreadful fearsFor him who soon would sail away.

He clasped her in his fond embrace,Her head lay on his throbbing breast,He kissed the tears from off her face,And whispered, “Love, ‘tis for the best!

“But oh remember, Mary dear,Forget me not where’er you be,

And for my sake be of good cheerUntil I send, my love for thee!”They parted then in sorrow deep,One lingering look on her he cast,That faithful tryst did Mary keep—She little, thought, it was the last.

But cruel death then waiting near,Claimed Mary’s lover, young and brave,And far from her he loved so dearThey laid him in a foreign grave.

Poor Mary’s tresses soon were grey,Her rosy cheeks with grief grew pale,But true to him laid far awayA maid she died in Leven’s Vale!

[ 99 ]

MEMORIES OF THE PAST.

Many a, time I sit and thinkOn the days that now are gone,And my heart is like to sinkSitting by the fire alone.As I thus in silence ponder,While the tears course down my cheek,Back to the past my thoughts will wander,And with grief I cannot speak.Fancy seems to bring so near meForms that lie within the mould,With their smiles they try to cheer me,As they did in days of old.Hand in hand we run togetherOnce again down Bryson’s Loan,Caring not for wind or weather,There beside the dear old home.Or from school we are returning,Mother meets us at the door,Full of love her heart is burning,Glad to see us home once more.In my joy I start and waken,Where is now the scene so bright?Every charm has me forsaken,Gone like shadows of the night.While the spell my thoughts surrounding,Dreaming thus of byegone days,Some one up the stair is bounding,And I see before my gazeOnly one fond, cherished brother,Sporting in his boyish glee,And the same sweet, smiling mother,They are all that’s left to me.Those that are not gone for over,Out upon the world are cast,But death alone from me will severThose sweet memories of the past.

[ 100 ]

BALLAGAN BRAES.

Composed when 13 Years of Age.

Am a barefitted lassie, ma age is thirteen,Ma mither is working frae, mornin’ till e’en,I keep the hoose tidy ; an’ listen a wee,There is Wullie an’ Johnnie, Mary an’ me.

Wullie tears tae ma mither doon in the highfiel’,An’ ma faither, puir man, is a real drouthy chiel,His wark is forsaken for Jock an’ for Tam,But he wid be a’ richt could he leave aff the dram.

It’s a real healthy place whaur we bide the noo,At least we aye like when the meal pock is fou;We are sonsy an’ plump, wi’ cheeks like the rose,Ye wid think that we dined wi’ the Duke o’ Montrose.

O I could bide here tae the end o’ ma days,At the fit o’ the hill on Ballagan’s green braes,Frae Boturrich tae Kippen I ken every turn,An’ wi’ ony yin here I can jump Ritchie’s Burn.

McKellar has grossets as big as yer thumb,An’ for gaun a bit errand am aye shair tae get some;Then at the grey gloamin’, in ma peenny o silk,Wi’ Sandy and Jimmie I gang for the milk.

But yestreen I dun something that grieves me gey sair,An’ made me sit greetin’ for twa hoors an’ mair;I robbed a bird’s nest o’ six wee robins red,An’ brocht them tae Johnnie, lying seik in his bed!

Ma mither wis angry, an’ for fear they wid dee,She sent me back wi’ them tae the nest in the tree;Noo, since I sat doon for tae, pen this bit rhyme,I never yince thocht tae look up at the time!

[ 101 ]

Though the hoose is sae tidy I maun hurry a wee,Tae clap on the kettle an’ mask a drap, tea,An’ Mary’s gold locks I maun brush oot again,For they are the fairest ever seen on a wean.

An’ Johnnie, wha kept us up maist o’ the nicht,Noo sings like a lintie, an’ am gled he’s a’ richt.There the kettle is humming a tune ye a’ ken,An’ ma, mither is coming—fareweel tae the pen!

[ 102 ]

FALSE LOVE.

Song.

When going down the Renton roadOne night in sweet September,

A lassie met the brawest ladThat maiden could remember.

She wandered down the Millburn Loan—The moon was shining clearly—

And there she worshipped at the throneOf him she loved so dearly.

He stole the rose from out her breast,And fondly did embrace it;He stole her heart so pure and blest,And never did replace it.

Oh the ship can boar the lad awa’,Where he is free from danger;But it canna, hide the maiden’s fa’From the slights of friend and stranger!

Then pay attention, maidens fair,Before their wiles can grieve you,

Of handsome lovers now beware,Let beauty ne’er deceive you I

Take caution from thy bosom friend,And those few words remember,

A maiden’s heart will never mendWhen broken in September!

[ 103 ]

COME BACK TO THE VALE.

Song.

A maiden was writing a letter, and the words she had to sayMade the teardrops fall as her heart did call on the loved one far away.It was a touching picture to see her sitting there,She sobbed and sighed, and thus she cried, in the depths of her despair—

“ Come back to the Vale,To bonnie Leven’s Vale,

I’m longing to meet you again;It is three years to-daySince your ship sailed away

And you parted with Mary M’Lean!”

They had told her the war was all over, and soon he would be back,Yet her lover to-day was fighting away under the Union Jack.She had now grown sad and weary, the papers she never read,So now to-night she a letter would write, and those were the words she said—

“ Come back to the Vale,To bonnie Leven’s Vale,

I’m longing to meet you again;It is three years to-daySince your ship sailed away

And you parted with Mary M’Lean!”

[ 104 ]

Her letter then she posted, and strange as it may seem,The postman’s knock this maid awoke next morning from a dreamWith news from her absent lover telling he would be home that day.Thus before the gun set two fond hearts met,And once more I heard her say—

“Come back to the Vale,To bonnie Leven’s Vale,

I’m longing to meet you again;Faithful and true, waiting for you,

Your own darling Mary M’Lean!”

[ 105 ]

THE ORPHAN BOY.

Recitation.

The day is past, the night has come,The little birds are in their nest,The wind blows round each happy home,While the inmates all have gone to rest;But there is one sad and aloneWho can no earthly bliss enjoy, He has no friends to call his own—Alas! he is an orphan boy.

He wanders on, he knows not where—A place of rest he cannot find, He tries to lisp his childhood’s prayerTo Him above so good and kind.The children at their merry play,Remind him of his early joy,Men he could be as blithe as they—But now he is an orphan boy.

He has no father now to guideHis wandering steps from sin and woe,No mother’s hand to wipe asideThe tears that down his pale cheeks flow.No brother kind, no sister dear,That once were all his pride and joy—They all are gone and left him hereTo wander as an orphan boy.

But He who watcheth over allSome day will take the wanderer home,And lead him to that heavenly hall,Where he no more will need to roam.The friends he loved he there will see

In that bright home of peace and joy,United through eternityNo more to be an orphan boy.

[ 106 ]

THE FIRESIDE EMIGRANTS.

Two women bound for LiverpoolFrom dear old Greenock Quay,The one was tall and handsome—The other she was wee.

The one had left her husband,The other left her child,And a poor old grey-haired mother,Who with grief was nearly wild.

They were head and ears in businessThe reason I declare,They had such a jolly time of itTo scramble up their fare.

The fare being ten and sixpence, theyAt last made up their mindThat the boat might go to Jericho,For they would stay behind.

So instead of leaving Greenock Quay,In distant lands to roam,They never left the RentonNor the loving ones at home.

Their names I will not tell you,But guess and you will know,For one can run upon the hills,The other runs below.

Those were the fireside emigrants,That never left the quay,Who are content to stay at homeAnd live on broad and ten.

[ 107 ]

THE WINDING PATH OF CROSSLETT IN DUMBARTON.

Song.

“Farewell my darling,” whispered a maid,As she stood with her love at the stile,Sharing the folds of his tartan plaidHer heart nearly breaking the while.“I will be glad when the war is o’er,And we again have met,Happy to whisper our love once moreBy the winding path of Crosslett.”

Chorus—O sweet Crosslett,Pray do not forget

Her who is true, waiting for youBy sweet Crosslett!

“Darling, this spot shall be sacred to me,Dearer than miser’s gold,For do you remember beneath this green treeLove’s secret first we told!When you gave me that pledge of affections strong,This ring with the rubies set,You slipped it on as we walked along,By the winding path of Crosslett!”

Chorus—

O sweet Crosslett,Where we so oft have met,

Vowing our love to the stars above,By sweet Crosslett!

[ 108 ]

Early next morning the soldier aroseAnd went forth duty’s call to obey,For king and for country he fought Britain’s foesOn the African veldt, far away.But with the brave Black Watch fell he,And he cried as he saw the sun set,“God bless the lass who is waiting for meBy the winding path of Crosslett!”

Chorus—

O sweet Crosslett,Lovers are wandering yet,

But that soldier and maid shall no more seek thy shadeBy sweet Crosslett!

[ 109 ]

DEFEATED, BUT NOT SUBDUED.

You are welcome home, Sir Thomas,The race we hear is up,

You are welcome home amongst us,Though you have not won the Cup.

You say that in the future, Tom,Thy challenge shall be renewed,

That proves you are a hero bold—Defeated, but not subdued!

The next time that your Shamrock dear

Shall try her gallant speed’Like Ireland’s emblem it will beThe three-leaved plant indeed.

Then welcome home, Sir Thomas,Thou dauntless, brave, and good,You won praise from royalty whenDefeated, but not subdued!

[ 110 ]

BONNIE BLUE-EYED NELLIE.

Bonnie blue-eyed Nellie,In her crimson frock,The youngest of the family,The shaking o’ the pock.Her brothers all seem giantsStanding by her side,While she looks like an angelSent down their steps to guide.

Bonnie blue-eyed Nellie,You’ll grow up some day,And find those brave protectorsAll fled from you away.But where’er they wander,They never shall forgetTheir happy little darling,Fair-haired, blue-eyed pet!

Thy father and thy mother,Who dote on you to-day,You shall be their sunshineWhen they are old and grey.May our dear Lord defend you,Whatever be thy lot,May every joy attend you,My sweet Forget-me-not!

[ 111 ]

THE POSTMAN.

Song.

There is one ever constant we meet day by day,A richt jolly fellow is he

In a’ kinds o’ weather wherever we strayThe postman on duty we see.When he comes to the door wi’ his rat, tat, tat!We rush oot to meet him wi’ speed,At sicht o’ a letter oor heart goes pit-pat!Though the news may be sad when we read.

Chorus—

Then never forget that you owe great respectTo the postman wherever you be,

Staun ready in danger his coat to protect,For a Government soldier is he!

When Christmas comes roon, as it aye does, ye ken,His equal is no in the place,

An’ the only bit, pleasure the postman hae thenIs the joy he can see on your face!When he hauns you a parcel frae lands faur awa’,He is prood o’ the service thus done,An’ the smiles it has brocht pay him better than a’Your presents, cake, shortbread, or bun!

Chorus—

Then never forget that you owe great respectTo the postman wherever you be,

Staun ready in danger his coat to protect,For a Government soldier is he!

[ 113 ]

THE MAN THAT LOST HIS MEMORY.

Song.

You have heard of the man that lost his purse,And nearly lost his mind,

And he sent detectives everywhereThat precious purse to find.But in this toon there leeves a man,An’ worse than a’ the lot,He took an’ lost last winterA’ the memory he had got.

Chorus—

Noo he is looking everywhere—Under every stool an’ chair,An’ the bits o’ weans they ca’ him doting Henry.An’ when decent folk should sleep,Wi’ a caun’le he will creep,Searching every corner for his memory.

The way he lost his memory—He wis a business man,

An’ being quite forgetful,He thocht upon a plan.So he took an’ wrote doon every word

Which helped to clear his head,But when he went to look for itThe paper it had fled!

Chorus—

Noo he is looking everywhere—

Under every stool an’ chair,An’ the bits o’ weans they ca’ him doting Henry.An’ when decent folk should sleep,Wi’ a caun’le he will creep,Searching every corner for his memory.

[ 113 ]

MARY’S TOYS.

Here they are, her little toys—Here they are, of every kind,Which were once her pride and joyNow site’s left them all behind.

Yonder is her arm-chair,She but once did sit upon,We must guard it now with care,Since our blue-eyed pet is gone.

Here’s her little basket, too,Which many a time for her did holdCups. and saucers, china blueLaid bye now like precious gold!

And here is her pretty dollShe often fondled on her knee,And many loving names would callAs if that it could hear or see.

Ah, how She smiled when it was dressed—In fancy now I see her there,Folding it unto her breast,Then laying it down with tender care.

Her washing board and watering can,Her sweeping brush and pull,Are now laid past with careful hand,As if to tell her tale.

And as the years will roll awayAlong life’s ebbing tide,Wee never shall forget the dayThat our wee Mary died.

[ 114 ]

BENEDICTION.

Softly on the evening airComes the answer to my prayer,Those dear words that banish care,

O Salutsris Hostia!

Then like mystic gems that float,Sweetly falls each tender note,Gladly from each youthful throat,

The sacred Tantum Ergo!

Strength and beauty now increasePleading round that throne of peace,That our sighs and tears may cease.

Ora Pro Nobis!

[ 115 ]

THE SOGGARTH ARROON.

As s Tribute Of Respect and Love to F. G., Alexandria.

Who is he who cometh forth?True messenger of love,Robed in spotless garments,Pure as heaven above!Holding within his bosomLife’s most cherished boon,Rich and poor gladly ope their doorTo welcome the Soggarth Arroon!

And tell me, shall you find himSeated in lofty hall,

Midst titled lords and, ladies?Ah, no, he shuns them all!His throne is the sinner’s deathbed,At early morn and noon,Trying to win all souls for him—Our saintly Soggarth Arroon!

Or in the dark and silent night,When wrapt in sleep we lie,

He will rush from his cosy chamber,Afraid lest one might die;Those sinking eyes, they know him well,And although the end comes soon,She is free front care, for he stands thereOur faithful Soggarth Arroon!

Then we him at the altar,The Good Book in his hand,

That gentle voice will falterWhen he speaks of the happy land.His blue eyes raised in prayer for us,His cheeks like row in June,With jewels rare I would crown him thereOur dear loved Soggarth Arroon!

[ 116 ]

THE EXILE FROM THE VALE

On his pallet bare in a foreign landThe lonely exile lay,

No parting clasp from a kindly handCheered him as he passed away.

Like one in a dream he gazed around,While tears coursed down his cheek,“O God!” he cried, “can there not be foundOne friend to whom I might speak!One friend to whom I could tell the tale

Of the hardships I’ve come through,And take to my loved ones in Leven’s ValeThis token I hold in view!The picture of one I loved so dear,

Whom I left long, long ago!My absence has caused her many a tearAnd many an hour of woe.When I think how I wooed and made her my bride,My heart free from sorrow and care,As lovers we wandered by Leven sideA faithful and happy pair.Ah false ambition that made me stray

So far from my childhood’s home,My wife, my children, far away,Across the ocean’s foam.Could I see Leven’s Vale again,Contented I would die,But alas I that one fond wish is vain!Life’s lamp is nearly dry.Then darling wife, farewell to thee,And when you hear the tale,O kiss my children dear for meIn bonnie Leven’s vale!”

[ 117 ]

And thus they found him when they came,The picture on his breast—

His parting word was that dear nameThe exile loved the best.The strangers kindly made a graveOn that far distant shore,And God reclaimed what first he gaveAn exile now no more!

[ 118 ]

FIRST LOVE,

When first my heart with love did share,

The nights were getting dark,It was the Moss o’ Balloch fair,

And the shows were in the park.We went to view the glorious sight,My comrade dear and I,Oh, I never will forget that nightThough a hundred years roll by!

We stood beside the swinging boats,So happy arm in arm.The music grand around us floats.

We felt its magic charmWe watched the wheel of fortune, andTogether then we wentTo join the hearty, laughing bandBeside the gipsy tent.

With golden wings the hours flew by.When a deep voice broke the spell,The voice that made my comrade shy—Poor Jim, I knew him well.And with him one I had not known,Jim introduced to me,Who took my hand and left me home,All, well such things will be!

He made this world a Paradise,At least I thought, it so.Love makes us foolish and unwiseWhich after years can show.Yet what a cruel coward’s part,I often now will say,For man to win a woman’s heart,Then calmly walk away!

[ 119 ]

I know I thought I could not live,So deep was my regret,And now to think I can forgive,But never shall forget.Last night I heard a neighbour say“How soon it’s getting dark,At home the children will not stay,For the shows are in the park!”

I felt my heart beat once againAs the music filled the air,Sweet memories came with joy and painOf that Moss o’ Balloch fair!I stand once more amidst the throng,And mark the joyful scene,While lads and lassies pass alongWhere happy I had been.

But no fond comrade now I seeHer bond clasped in my own,No handsome lover smiles on me—Ah, no, I stand alone!O bitter fate, we know it whenOur hearts bleed to the core.And we can feel for others then,As we never felt before!

Yet cherished are the thoughts that clingAround me night and day—The gipsy tent, the high boat swing—The music grand and gay!

On that sweet spot my heart was moved,When first I met him there,The only man I ever lovedAt the Moss o’ Balloch fair.

[ 120 ]

A DAY ON LOCH LOMOND.

RecitationGive me a boat and trusty oar,A pencil and a note-book give,And I shall gather golden storeThat will encourage men to live.Give me one glimpse of the silvery sheen,The joy of every human heart,Where softly sleeps a nations queen—Majestic gem of Nature’s art.O sweetest spot on all this earth,Immortalised by Walter Scott,More dear to me than cosy hearth,For here my cares are all forgot.O could I live upon thy breast!I would not envy prince or peer,To wander where thy foaming crestO’erflows, thy sides, Loch Lomond dear.How fondly would I ponder thenOn those dark days so long gone by,When loud did sound through hill and glenThe war pipe’s thrilling battle cry.Then softly o’er the waters glide,Until I view in noonday’s beamInchmurran, where the crystal tideMakes artists sigh and poets dreamWhere Highland Dougal, tried and true,Once, saw the glint of light come down,The hand of God that pointed toThe spot where he his laddie found.Now westward let me turn my glanceAnd greet the mainland where I viewThe glorious seat of sword and lance—Ancestral home of the brave—Rossdhu!

Rossdhu, Rossdhu, much joy hath beenWithin thy halls so grand and free,But one great sorrow thou hast seenTook place in eighteen seventy threeWhen good Sir James, that Christmas timeWas drowned, returning from the chase,His proud heart full in manhood’s primeBrave chieftain of a noble race.A blinding snowstorm struck the boatThat held Sir James and gillies fourNot even were they left to floatThey sank—ah, heaven!—to rise no moreYes, there they perished side by side,

Down in our hearts live day and date,Of chief and vassals not one replied—Alike they met one common fate.The body of Sir James ColquhounWas taken from thy crystal wave,And others of the party soonWere laid with sorrow in the grave.But one or two still sleep the sleepThat knows no waking here below,Down in thy waters, dark and deepRocked in soft lullaby when the winds blowSouthward—I rest when near GlenfruinAlas! sad glen of mourning thee,Where forward strode the brave ColquhounTo meet Macgregor, bold and free.Three hundred years hath passed and goneSince that dark conflict here took placeWhen that oppressive act was shownWhich doomed the Clan Macgregor race.Thank God those hostile days are o’er,And deadly foes in peace now dwellWhile rusted lies the great claymore—Memento of the tale they tell.Dear, dear, to me Loch Lomond grand,In winter’s snow or summer fair,All praise thy beauty doth command—Thou art indeed beyond compare.

[ 122 ]

The sun has sunk beneath the Ben,And I with thee one glad day spent,Enraptured by each hill and glen,Where I have found such sweet content.Then fare thee well, Inchfad, Inchmoan!Inchconachan, farewell a while!Inchlonaig, Inchgalbraith, Inchcruin—And Inchtavannach, the monk’s isle—Inchcalliach, beauteous gem of day—In tears I bid you all adieu.Loch Awe, Loch Long, Loch Goil, Loch Tay,Loch Katrine, and sweet Ben Venue—Ben Ledi, and the Trossachs fair—Ben Lomand, mighty towering ben,A glipseof Eden rich and rare—Loch Lomond, queen and pride of men!

[ 123 ]

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE COMING OF AGE OF THE MARQUIS OF GRAHAM, ELDEST SON OF THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF MONTROSE, HELD AT BUCHANAN CASTLE, AUGUST 1899.

Come let us rejoice, the occasion is great,While flags floating gaily our gladness proclaim,The employees and tenants on the Montrose estateAre waiting to welcome the Marquis of Graham.The August sun falls on the picturesque scene

Where the marquee resplendent in beauty doth stand,The castle towers rise above the trees of greenOverlooking fair Strathendrick and Loch Lomond grand.

Noble guests now arrive to the piper’s merry strain,The toast is drank freely in Highland honours true;Herr Iff’s band sounds melodious o’er the wide domain,Brining back the days when men would dare and do.What a glorious sight not soon to be forgot,Drymen and Buchanan vied in loyalty to please;Even from the end of each gable end of the humble little cotA tiny flag of welcome was fluttering in the breeze.The banquet is over and the feasting is done,The Duchess and daughters with others have came,The greatest event of the day hath begun—Their grand presentation to the Marquis of Graham.How endearing each word that address did containFrom the hearts of the people who loved him so well,While plaudits re-echoed again and again,And the woods of Montrose in rich cadence did swell.

[ 124 ]

“I search my heart right,” the young chieftain said,“And I know that this gift kindly given by youIn honour of the name that I hear has been laidAs a guide in the duty God has called me to do,And I hope from my heart in the fullness of timeThat the verdict may find me, wherever I be,Not entirely unworthy of the name that is mine,Nor the historic traditions of my family,”

Such brave, loyal words! What a loud rining cheerCame forth from the hearts of the company all round,Won by the speech he made true and sincere,Standing there like a monarch accepting the crown.His eyes beam with pleasure as each guest will claim him,While they drink to his health he smiles sweetly on all,Should the artist now paint him I fondly would name himOur worthy descendant of Netherby Hall.

The let us rejoice! From our hearts we will prayThat he whom we honour may be always the same,Success crown his efforts, and this happy dayLive fresh in the heart of the Marquis of Graham.God bless our kind Duke, the friend of the people,God bless our good Duchess, who bore such a son,And may they be spared until grey-haired and feeble,Their staff, the young marquis, they both will lean on.

May the prod, noble father the skipper still prove,And the dear, gentle mother, so tender and true,Be forever the sweet guardian angel of love,Then the barque of the marquis shall sail safely through.Let us cheer once again, just to finish the day,May all happiness fall on the time-honoured name,And while we have strength we will earnestly pray

For the welfare and health of the Marquis of Graham.

[ 125 ]

THE GENERAL SERVANT.

Recitation.

I went as a general servant, just to earn my daily bread,And never did I think I would regret it,But the ordeal that I went through very nearly took my head,And believe me when I say I won’t forget it!

I had seen the grand announcement in the Times the other night,And the words I read did seem so nice and homely—“Wanted a general servant, situation very light,No washing and a lady and gentleman only.”

The result was that next morning, with my reference in my handI reached my destination, and , believe me,I was taken in—and done for—to a drawing room so grand,Where the lady sat all smiling to receive me.

Yes, taken in and done for when the lady did engageFor me to come at once, and no delaying,And then she sweetly mentioned what was called “beginner’s wage,”Which I understood per month she would be paying.

Well I did as she requested, and I left my little home,Where I had lived so happy and contented,Until slack time brought poverty, and sent me forth to roam,Thus to be a general servant I consented.

At six o’clock next morning then my duties I began,And just when I had got the breakfast ready,I was turning from the fireplace after taking off the pan,When right into the kitchen came a lady.

Not my mistress, but a stranger—least a stranger unto me—And the look upon her face would kill a German!As she smartly did inform me what my duties were to be,And the title of those duties was a sermon.

Yes, she started with a lecture that I thought would never end,To stand longer on my feet I was not able,It would take a dozen servants all those orders to attend,And the breakfast lying cold upon the table.

The she called out in a passion as her eye fell on the tray,“What a great mistake, Jane, you have made already,The table must be set for seven, remember, from to-day,And when you lift the tray please hold it steady.”

When the family rose from breakfast she came back to me again,And she found me midst the pots and pans hard splashing;“O make hast and clear away,” she said, “and please remember, Jane,To-day you have a very heavy washing.”

Well my pots and pans I finished, likewise every dish and spoon,For the kitchen I did not wait to begin it,But as quick as feet could take me I went straight up to my room,Where I dressed myself and packed up in a minute.

Then I landed down my luggage, and stood waiting in the hall,So excited that my feet would not keep steady,When out from the parlour came my mistress, fair and tall,And along with her that other charming lady.

[ 127 ]

“Why, whatever is the matter?” horror struck my mistress cried,“Are you ill, please, Jane, I want and explanation?”“I am quite well, I assure you,” very gently I replied,“But as you see I am going to the station.”

“When I state to you the reason kindly do not think me rude,For my reference gave you every satisfaction;But had I got yours, my lady, in this house I never shouldHave suffered what would bring me to distraction.

“In the first place, when you advertised and I came here to you,I took it all fro granted when you told meThat I would be very happy, scarcely anything to do,And now I find there’s seven to rage and scold me!

“In the second place, you promised you would send the washing out,And this morning you have broke your word already;I have been much disappointed, and that without a doubt,In the third place, that I took you for a lady!”

The I lifted up my luggage, and they never spoke a word,But stood speechless at my daring explanation;And now all such announcements that I see I call absurd,Since I tried that general servant situation.

[ 128 ]

A LETTER RECEIVED BY A SOLDIER FROM HIS MOTER IN THE VALE OF LEVEN TELLING OF THE KINDNESS OF MRS. ADAIR CAMPBELL, OF BROOMLEY HOUSE, AEXANDRIA, WHILE HE WAS WITH HIS REGIMENT AT MODDER RIVER, DECEMBER 1899.

Beside the campfire on the African plainA dark-haired British soldier knelt,And a letter crushed and travel-stainedWith haste he took from out his belt.

He saw the stamp of his native Vale,“From mother dear!” was all he said,While his face with anguish drawn and pale,Now in his joy grew rosy red.

His comrades eager gathered round,Like suppliants pleading at the throne,“Come, Stewart,” they said, “what news have you found?

Let’s here how they are in the dear old home.”

“Well, mates,” he answered, “at your requestI will read the letter gladly through,We have not long in our camp to restEre the bugle finds us soldiers true.

“The news that I have received to-dayDates December 3rd, Sunday afternoon,My mother is well, and writes to say,She hopes that she will see me soon.

“ ‘I wish to let you know, my son,Of the noble work so good and kindThat loving hearts are having doneFor those the soldiers leave behind.

[ 129 ]

“ ‘My home is safe, my rent is paid,My fire burns bright, no cares annoy,The only grief by nature madeAre thoughts for you, my darling boy!

“ ‘A concert grand has been given here,To strengthen the war fund and help the poor,By Mrs. Campbell of Broomley, dear,You will remember her, I am sure.’

“That is all, dear comrades, poor mother does say.I have read you my letter from over the foam,Then join with me now in a hip, hip. Hurrah!For the friends that are guarding our loved ones at home.”

What a glorious cheer from these heroes boldCame forth in praise of that lady’s name!I ween it was worth a nation’s gold,And won for that lady undying fame.

Then the call to arms found each soldier braveIn the ranks once more till the morning’s dawn,And the gallant cheer each fond heart gaveWas the Campbell’s are coming, lead on, lead on!

[ 130 ]

ANNIE’S DEPARTURE.

Recitation.

A pale girl lay waiting the dawn of the dayWhile her mother knelt down by her side,She knew that her daughter was passing away—Her only pleasure and pride.

The cold sweat of death lay still on her brow,And the once ruby lips were so pale;

Her eyes, clear and bright, were closing fast nowAs she bade her farewell to the Vale.

“Dear mother,” she cried, “raise me up once again,And do not be weeping for me;The Lord has relieved me at last from all pain,And I want to say something to thee.

“You know how I love you, ah, why should I not,To me you have always been kind,Your own darling Annie you never forgot—The why must I leave you behind!

“Had there only been one left to cheer your sad heart,I would have felt happy to die,But the nearest and dearest one day all must part,For death there is none can deny.

“When morning will dawn I will be with the fldYou have pictured so often to me,Beside that White Throne in that mansion of goldI will wait, dearest mother, on thee!

“You must not be weeping when left all alone,Although I shall never return;You have taught me to call that bright heaven my home,Then, mother, rejoice, do not mourn.

[ 131 ]

“Tell all my companions I gave them my love,And cless them with my parting breath,And tell them, dear mother, when I am aboveThey must always remember my death.

“I am sinking fast now, and the angels are near—The kiss me, dear mother, once more!If I have been wayward or caused you a tear,Forgiveness I humbly implore.”

And who will describe that fond mother’s despairAs she kissed the cold sweat from her brow,And sobbed out in anguish, sorrow, and care,“I have nothing to live for now!”

The clasping her mother’s gentle hand,She cried in a mournful wail—“Farewell till we meet in a better land,Farewell to my native Vale!”

[ 132 ]

COME, JOIN THE LEAGUE WITH ME

Recitation.

Out of the Mouths of the Little Ones Cometh Wisdom.

“O Father dear, touch not the drink when grief is on your brow,What would my darling mother think could she see you just now!And we are both so very poor, yet one way I can see.To drive the wolf back from our door—Come, join the League with me.On Sunday I crept into church, and heard the good man sayThat rich and poor through cruel drink were often led astray,And tempted their own dear lives to take, and die in misery.Then, father dear, for mother’s sake, come, join the League with me.”A little girl, scarce eight years old, those loving words did sayTo one who sat both stern and cold, treading the downward way.One year ago his wife had died, and he with grief nigh wild,All pleasures to himself denied, lived only for his child.Then comrades came the hours to pass, when money round was spread,And afterwards they brought the glass “to cheer his heart” they said.Thus inch by inch they lured him on, more easy day by day,Until they found his money gone, then each one dropped away.

[ 133 ]

Dishonoured then and sunk in shame, no hand outstretched to save,Even shunned by those who oft had come his charity to crave.Yes, shunned he was, but not by all, for there in patience mildSat one still ready at his call, his faithful little child!Kind neighbours offered her a home, but Mary shook her head,“Though all have from poor father gone, my place is here,” she said.Her bright blue eyes in tears grew dim, “in sin he shall not die,Both night and day I’ll pray for him, and save him by-and-bye.”Yet Mary’s prayers seemed all in vain, through the streets she oft would roam,Her tender heart so full of pain, she would lead the wanderer home,Beside him kneeling down to plead like an angel pure was she,This prayer reached heaven in the hour of need, Come, join the League with me.”One night she came with words of love though her heart with hunger bled,He knocked her down, she did not move, he thought that she was, dead.In haste he raised that fragile form, and clasped her to his breast,And showered kisses fond and warm on the one who loved him best.“O Mary dear, forgive that blow, and a changed man I will be!‘Twas cruel drink made me not know what I have done to thee.”At last the poor child raised her head, while tears coursed down her cheek,Saying, “Father, take me to my bed, and listen while I speak,Midst all our troubles day by day you never stop to think—

[ 134 ]

You even have forgot to pray since you began to drink.Now, father, I am but a child, yet God has made me knowYou soon would change your life so wild if you to work would go.It was not always thus with you, and there is time for theeTo make a start in life anew—Come, join. the League with me.”She ceased to speak! He took her hand. “Bear witness God above,Whatever else you may demand, grant me one boon of love.O spare, dear Lord, my child to me, or my poor heart will break,My eyes are opened, now I see, and I the pledge will take!I will no more the wine cup toss, nor share the drunkard’s fate,For I will join the League of the Cross! God grant it’s not too late.”He went to work, and day by day wee Mary stronger grew,God sent him blessings every way, and found him brave and true.

When comrades round him would rejoice, and liquor sported free,He still could hear that welcome voice “Come, join the League with me.”Respected now he is by all, his daughter by his side,She still stands ready at his call, her father’s joy and pride!To her he owes both wealth and fame, a home from sorrow free,Those loving words won him a name—“Come, join the League with me.”

[ 135 ]

MY RECEPTION AT BUCHANAN CASTLE.

It wis in eichteen ninety-nine,September month, an’ weel I min’,I took a trip to Drymen, syne—Like ony Wullie Wastle.

I looked around wi’ sma’ alairm,That kintry held for me a chairm,Some twa three rhymes beneath my, airm—I hailed Buchanan Castle.

Before that I could ring the bell,Out came a stalwart han’some swell—I thocht it wis the Duke himsel’,So douce, wis he and comely.

But when my errand I did gie,An’ told him who I wished to see,The truth began to dawn on me—He wis the footman only.

He said her Grace had just gane oot,But would return quite soon nae doot,Then gently turned him round aboot,An’ kindly bade me enter.

Then at a table brawly drest,There I wis set doon tae the best,Cake, bun, an’ fruit, an’ a’ the rest,An’ noo for my adventure.

A hunner bells rang in my ear,When the footman did again appear,An’ softly said as he drew near—“Her Grace will now receive thee.”

[ 136 ]

I couldna tell what looked maist browWithin yon bonnie castle ha’,In fact I neither heard nor saw,An’ this is true, believe me.

Sweet music then the stillness broke,I thocht some minstrel had awoke,As unto me the Duchess spokeIn accents soft revealing.

The nature o’ a mither’s heartWis plainly felt in every part,The teardraps doon my cheek did start,Her voice was so appealing.

An’ while I sat beside her thereShe gently stroked my laddie’s hair;He will mind that action ever mairWhile he through life shall wrastle.

She placed some gold then in my han’,Likewise a portrait, rich and gran’,Of him just then become a manAt fair Buchanan Castle.

Oh mony a treasure there is kept.An’ mony a hero there has slept,While silken goons fu’ aft hae sweptTo the piper’s strains sae steady.

The fiery cross adorns that wa’,An’ mony a bygone relic braw,But the jewel that ootshines them a’Is her Grace, that noble lady!

[ 137 ]

THE RIVALS.

Recitation.The N.B. and the Caley metThe other day at Balloch Station,As near them both as I could getI stood and heard this conversation—

The Caley said, “Dear friend, N.B.,Just kindly for one moment listen,And when my tale is told to theeWith envy deep thine eyes shall glisten.

“Take no offence if I speak plain,We two are rivals, and you know it,But the chosen favourite I remain,And I will prove how I can show it.

“I look so fresh, so bright, and new,The people throng through lane and alley,And though you may be first in view,They all declare they’ll take the Caley.

“They like me for my noble speed,While you tread on with dead slow motion,It will be very strange indeedIf ever you claim such devotion.”

“Well done for you,” N.B. replied,

“You really are a generous donor,But thus to glory in self-pride,My Caley friend, reflects no honour.

“I will admit thy coat of whiteMay be admired by every section,Yet the coat, my friend, whether dark or light,Was never known to make perfection.

[ 138 ]

“As for my speed, if slow I’m sure,And at my post stand always ready,The handles on my doors secure,Likewise my course both clear and steady.

“While I have heard the people sayYou cause them constant irritation,From Balloch on to Glasgow theyGet fearful bumps at every station.

“If for a prize, my Caley friend,We both were tested fairly in it,I really think that in the endI would run as good a chance to win it.

“And this grand lesson bear in mind,No matter how friends may adore thee,Whene’er to boast you feel inclined,See that thy elders speak before thee.”

“I thank thee for thy kind advice,”The Caley said in deep contrition,“My vanity hath had full price,The rich reward of false ambition.”

Then in the distance I could seeThe signal raised, no time to dally,With joy I hailed my friend, N.B.,Returning with my friend, the Caley.

[ 139 ]

FINIS CORONAT OPUS.

I Thank thee, gentle reader, for thy courtesy,In this that thou hast kindly given to meThy precious time.And my next volume, which I now begin,Quite soon I hope that you will find therein

More than rhyme.But thou hast given me one grateful pleasure—Thy patience, a virtue I would treasureAnd shall remember.Then let thy kindest blessings oftentimesBrighten the life of her who wrote Loch Lomond rhymesIn bleak November.